BETWEEN THE old drive-in-cinema speaker poles, assorted trash and treasure was displayed on trestle tables, across blankets on the ground, and in car boots. The smells of doughnuts and hot chips from the canteen greased the air.

Nan handed over money to a stallholder for a set of kitchen canisters: a white Pillsbury All Purpose Flour, a yellow Domino Sugar, a blue Maxwell House Coffee, and a red Lipton Tea. I wished I’d seen them first; they would have made good pencil and paintbrush holders. ‘Collector’s items,’ said the stallholder as he packed the canisters in a plastic bag. Mum examined a rack of second-hand clothes: denim skirts and jeans same as the ones she always wore. Pop wandered off in search of tools, feeling the square of his wallet in the back pocket of his stubbies shorts.

‘I’m going to look around by myself,’ I said.

‘Somebody’s birthday in three days,’ Mum said. ‘Pick whatever you like, and I’ll get it for you.’

I moseyed along with the crowd. Plastic jewellery, trinket holders, moccasins, tie-dyed T-shirts, stamps, coins, dodgy-looking household appliances, hand-tooled leather wallets. I stopped at the bookstall. Among the knitting magazines and shiny thrillers, I saw an old leather-bound copy of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. A little boy was handling it while he licked an ice cream. I glared at him, gritting my teeth, willing him to put the book down. He dropped it, started crying, and his mother dragged him away. I snatched up the book. The White Rabbit embossed in gold on the cover, gilt-edged pages, bound-in satin ribbon. In good condition. Published 1977. Not as old as I’d thought, but a bargain — along with a book of Leonard Cohen’s poetry — for five bucks.

Next to the books was a stall selling pets. Birds, guinea pigs, and kittens. I crouched down and stuck my fingers through the wire mesh of the kittens’ cage. ‘Hello.’ One kitten — a black one — came forward and looked up as though it recognised me. Big, intelligent blue eyes. It’s brothers and sisters continued playing with the shredded newspaper at the back. The black kitten licked my fingers with its little sandpaper tongue. ‘Wait there,’ I told it.

The kitten mewled. I stood up and looked around for Mum, couldn’t see her. ‘Don’t sell the black kitten, I’ll be back,’ I called to the stallholder as I rushed off into the crowd.

Breathless, I found Mum and Nan at the plant stall. ‘I saw what I want for my birthday. A kitten!’

Mum shook her head.

‘I’ll pay for it.’ Nan reached into her hand-tooled leather bag.

‘No,’ Mum said, narrowing her eyes at Nan.

‘Why not?’ I said.

‘Barky wouldn’t like it. And it might kill the chooks.’

‘I’ll keep it inside.’

‘I said No!’

Nan flinched at Mum’s tone. She touched her long ponytail, sunlight catching a tinge of violet in the mousey-grey.

I looked at Mum’s hands; she was holding a packet of red handkerchiefs and two weird little bonsai trees.

I stormed off towards the canteen.

Pop was waiting in line at the bain-marie. ‘Sid!’ He held up a vacuum cleaner by the handle. ‘Look what I scored for your grandmother.’ Under his other arm was a rifle case. He showed it to me, pointing out its one little defect — a hairline crack across the bottom. ‘You haven’t come rabbit huntin’ with me in a long while.’

‘Mmm.’ Not since I was about twelve. I thought of the ‘bunny stew’ Nan made. Gross. ‘I’ll come next time, if you let me drive again.’

‘Rightio, but don’t tell ya mum.’ Pop bought a doughnut, and paid for the hot chips I ordered.

There was a fire truck parked outside the trash and treasure. Kids were crawling over it like ants on a jam jar. ‘Put the siren on again!’ shouted a little boy.

‘In a minute, matey,’ said Christos, who with another firefighter was keeping watch over the display.

I lowered my head as we walked past, but he saw me.

‘Sidney!’ He grinned like the Cheshire Cat. ‘And Mrs Madsen.’ He held out his hand to Mum.

‘Miss,’ she said, juggling her hankies and bonsai in one hand while Christos kissed the other. ‘Faye.’

He introduced himself to Nan and Pop, kissed and shook their hands respectively. ‘Miss Faye.’ He looked back at Mum and winked. ‘Have you ever been in a fire truck?’

I couldn’t believe it — Mum blushed.

‘Let me hold those for you,’ he took her treasures, ‘while you climb up and have a look. How about you, Miss Sidney?’

‘I’m right, thanks.’ I stuck a chip in my mouth.

‘I wouldn’t mind havin’ a butcher’s,’ said Pop.

‘Absolutely!’ said Christos. ‘Right this way, Pop.’

Pop left the vacuum cleaner and rifle case on the ground, and followed Mum up into the cabin.

‘Nan?’ Christos said, the grin never leaving his face.

She shook her head demurely.

On the way back to the car, Mum nudged me with her elbow. ‘Bloody hell, Sid, he’s gorgeous.’