On Saturday morning, Mr Wo and Jonah drive all the way to West Wrestler to visit me and the Minnow. Jonah promised to bring my thesaurus and dictionary and Mr Wo is bringing me some schoolwork.

Jonah arrives first; Mr Wo has stopped at the cafeteria.

I wish Mr Wo hadn’t asked me to call him James. Do I call him Mr Wo when he is visiting as my teacher? It’s starting to do my head in.

I ask Jonah about it and he tells me he only refers to James as Mr Wo on school property. I smell something fishy.

‘On school property?’ I reply in a singsong voice.

‘Don’t be annoying, Tom.’

‘Hi, Tom,’ interrupts James Wo. James Wo: much better.

Neither of us heard him arrive. ‘The doctor tells me you’ll be here for a few weeks,’ he says as he leans down and drops his bag on the floor.

‘So,’ he continues, pushing at the bag with his foot, ‘I took the liberty of bringing some extra work.’

Jonah and I sit quietly. James Wo drinks his coffee. Jonah divides his time between staring out the window and staring at James Wo. Eventually James Wo pulls a chair next to my bed and talks me through each assignment. It takes about half an hour to explain everything.

He says that language is one of my strengths, so some of the tasks are aimed at broadening my skills. That, he says, will be the fun part. The rest is revision, plain and simple. He has designed a lesson plan to catch-me-up with the aim of entering year ten (with a baby in tow).

What did he say? The Minnow at high school? Is he high? I raise an eyebrow across to Jonah. He rolls his eyes back at me. ‘You two finished?’ asks James Wo, looking back and forth. Jonah’s face turns red.

‘Sorry,’ I say. Jonah can’t speak.

‘Well, I think that’s about it,’ says James Wo, ‘unless you have any questions.’

Yes, I’d like to know how my school’s going to cope when I turn up with a baby. But instead I ask, ‘Why does my thesaurus omit particular words?’

‘Give me an example.’

‘Repetoire,’ I say, ‘and there are others.’

James Wo smiles at me. I think he finds me amusing.

‘I could compile a list.’

‘You could, indeed,’ says James Wo. He stands to leave. ‘I’m going into town for a few hours,’ he says to Jonah and me. ‘Apparently West Wrestler has a fantastic library. I’ll be back at about three o’clock. That should give the two of you time to catch up.’

He takes a small card from his pocket and tucks it into the side of one of the books that he’s piled up on the table next to the bed. ‘That’s my mobile, if you need me. Otherwise, see you at three.’ James Wo smiles, and he and his pretty face turn and leave.

It’s quiet. Just me and Jonah. The Minnow has been asleep for what seems like days. I pat the bed.

‘C’mon, Jonah, time to talk.’

Bill’s truck is a twin-cab. He and I are up front and Paul Bunter and Jacko Davis are in the back. The four of us are driving up north to Minbayon Falls. Everyone goes there to fish for blue swimmer crabs, but the road is so bumpy that if I didn’t have my seatbelt on tight, I’d have banged my head on the roof or the window, or both. As it is, I have one hand braced against the dash and I’m gripping the edge of the seat with the other. The drive to Minbayon Falls is never fun.

‘You see that new fella in town, Tuesday?’ yells Paul over the racket. I never bother talking to Bill while he’s driving, mostly because he never bothers to answer me. But he’ll answer Paul.

‘Nup,’ says Bill, ‘but I heard he was sniffing around.’

Sniffing around. Bill’s term for any unwelcome male and, as far as I can tell, they’re always unwelcome according to Bill.

Paul leans forward, draping his arms over the seat between Bill and me. The first and second fingers of his left hand are stained a rusty yellow from years of roll-your-owns. ‘Jacko’s mate,’ he says, hooking his right thumb back at the passenger sitting next to him (in case we’d somehow missed the fact that Jacko’s riding in the twin-cab with us), ‘from out west,’ Paul continues, ‘near Lake what’s-its-name.’

Paul pauses a moment, but Jacko doesn’t offer up the name of the lake. It’s always like this. If Paul wasn’t with us, the two-hour drive would go by in silence. But Paul’s a talker. Bill says that Paul’s the kind of bloke who sees a gap in the conversation and just has to fill it.

‘You see him, Tom?’ he asks me, when it is obvious that Bill has lost interest.

I shrug indifference and resume staring out the window. If I wanted, I could tell him that I saw a strange guy loitering around the pie shop. Saturday afternoon, while I was waiting for Jonah. Tall, red hair. Walked like he had ridden a horse all his life. Papa says a horse spoils a man. I’m not sure what that means.

Instead I say nothing. I like Paul. I’ve known him most of my life. It would be so easy to chat about the new guy; make guesses about what he’s doing in town. But it would only make Bill edgy. Bill likes to be the one in the know. If I piped up, Bill would wonder why I hadn’t told him first. Then he would question me about it; why I had kept it to myself. Stupid, really. Just a stranger standing outside the pie shop. But Bill can make a mountain out of any molehill, no matter how small.

‘Jacko reckons he used to have family. The Fischers would be my guess, if his red hair is anything to go by.’

Shake Fischer. I think he was in the year below me. I didn’t know him that well, but I’d chat to him every now and then. He had one blue eye and one brown eye. Apparently it ran in his family. That and the red hair. Shake was a nickname. I’ve no idea how he got it.

‘You know the Fischers, Tom?’ asks Paul, tapping my shoulder.

‘I knew them,’ I answer. ‘Their house was in Keen Street, below the marker.’ The flood sign in Keen Street had been incorrectly positioned at the high end of the road. No one had bothered to move it because, back then, it never rained. People thought it was funny.

‘That’s right,’ says Paul, putting two and two together. ‘Poor bastards.’

‘Jesus, Bunter,’ says Bill, ‘could you get any more depressing?’

‘Sorry, mate,’ says Paul to Bill. Then the penny drops. ‘Oh, shit, Tom…’

‘It’s okay,’ I say. But there’s a lump in my throat and suddenly I’m crying.

‘Oh, Christ,’ says Bill.

I turn my face to the passenger window and watch the view speed past. Paul starts to say something, but thinks better of it and instead gives my shoulder the briefest of squeezes before slumping back in his seat. A minute later, the cabin is filled with cigarette smoke. No one speaks for the rest of the trip.

Finally we turn onto Minbayon Falls Road. The gravel has recently been graded, promising a smooth, if dusty, ride. Bill tunes the radio and I fall asleep.

I’m in someone’s house. It is beautifully furnished; everything looks like it belongs in a magazine. I am standing at the door to the lounge room and there is a woman, fast asleep, in bed. The bed is out of place among the sofas and lounge chairs. I wonder if the woman is ill.

There are two other people in the room; an old woman and a young girl. The old woman is reading and the girl is playing with something on the floor. They ignore me. Maybe I’m invisible. I enter, close the door behind me, walk past the bed and across the room to the windows. Every step I take makes a squelching sound and when I look down at my feet I notice that the carpets are soaked. Water is seeping under the door.

The woman wakes up and gets out of bed. She is dressed in elegant trousers and a soft wool cardigan. She walks away from me, to a desk on the other side of the room. I stand there, with my back to the window, waiting for someone to notice me.

The sound of rushing water is deafening.

‘Wake up, buddy.’

I’m vaguely aware of someone talking. I can hear the crashing roar of the falls, followed by a sudden blast of cold air on my face.

‘C’mon, sleepyhead,’ says Paul. I open my eyes to see him leaning against the door, lighting a cigarette. ‘Jacko and Bill are over at the railing, waiting for us.’

I can’t see them, but the noise and the mist tell me we’ve parked really close. I unclip my seatbelt and Paul helps me down from the cab.

‘Sorry about before,’ he says, as we walk across the car park. ‘Sometimes I run off at the mouth without thinking. Next time, bloody kick me.’

‘Don’t worry about it,’ I say.

Paul stops to grind his cigarette under his boot, then picks the butt off the ground and stashes it in his shirt pocket. Nana says it’s an odd man who doesn’t mind polluting his body, but is adamant about saving the environment.

‘Piggyback?’ I ask.

‘Sure,’ he answers and bends down to let me climb aboard.

Dad built Sarah and me a tree house in the magnolia. When the tree was flowering, the scent was almost overpowering. We had a rope ladder which was tied in three places to stop it swinging. I would have preferred it loose. What was the point of a rope ladder if it was fixed in three places? But Sarah got nervous if it swung around. Dad said that when she got older he’d untie the fastenings.

I decided that if the tree house had survived the flood, I’d fix it up for the Minnow. I could untie the ladder and teach her to climb like me.

‘Would you come with me to the old place?’ I ask Jonah. Jonah and I are lying side by side on the small hospital bed.

‘You know your house got washed away.’

‘I know. But it’s over a year and I haven’t been back. Not even to check on the tree house.’

‘It’s still there,’ says Jonah. ‘I went with James.’

‘What do you mean, you went with James?’ I can feel myself getting angry and I’m not sure why.

‘Don’t get upset, Tom. I should’ve told you, but I didn’t think you cared about any of it.’

‘Jonah Whiting. Are you insane? Of course I care. You of all people should know that.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he says.

We’re interrupted by a knock on the door.

‘Lover’s quarrel?’ says a nurse who has appeared in the doorway and is smiling at us approvingly. I have no idea how long she’s been there. ‘Stay put,’ she instructs Jonah as he makes a move to get up, ‘I’m just taking madam’s pulse and temperature. Be out of your hair in two minutes, tops.’

Jonah and I turn slightly away from each other. I feel really uncomfortable and I know he does too. I wish he’d gotten off the bed while he had the chance. ‘Okay, all done,’ says Miss Efficiency. ‘Lunch will be about ten minutes. You staying?’ she asks, and looks enquiringly at Jonah.

‘Yes,’ I answer, as Jonah seems to have lost the power of speech. ‘Jonah is staying till three.’

‘Good,’ she says, ‘I’ll ask the kitchen to add an extra meal.’ Jonah and I watch as the nurse writes something on the clipboard and hangs it back on the end of the bed. She looks at both of us and smiles as she leaves the room.

‘Did you see that?’ whispers the Minnow. ‘She thinks you’re a couple.’

‘The Minnow’s awake,’ I say to Jonah, taking his hand and resting it on my belly. We sit like this for a few minutes. The Minnow obliges with a few summersaults. ‘Jonah,’ I say, ‘do you think the police want to talk to me because they know the Minnow is half Bill’s?’

‘No,’ answers Jonah. ‘Bill has done something. The police have been questioning Paul Bunter and Jacko Davis.’

‘Oh,’ I say, lapsing back into silence. This is an unexpected turn of events. Maybe I’m off the hook. I’m about to ask Jonah how he knows what the police have been doing, when it dawns on me that he’s acting weird.

‘What’s wrong?’ I ask. ‘You’re not being yourself.’

Jonah shifts his body. He turns and looks at me, briefly, then refocuses on his feet. I realise I have no idea what’s going on.

‘Jonah, you’re freaking me out.’

He clears his throat. I hold my tongue. He clears his throat for the second time.

‘I’ve got a crush on James,’ he says in a tiny voice. If we weren’t sitting side by side, I would have missed it.

‘A love crush?’ I ask, taking his hand away from the Minnow so I can turn and face him. ‘A love crush on James Wo?’ My voice has come out high and squeaky.

‘Just a crush, all right?’ He folds his arms defensively.

‘But he’s a teacher,’ I say, stating the obvious. ‘He could lose his job.’

‘Oh, sorry, Miss sleep-with-Bill-who’s-old-enough-to-be-your-father.’

‘Stop it,’ I say, a bit too loudly.

‘For god’s sake, Tom, you’ve only just had your birthday,’ meaning I was only fourteen when it happened, ‘so don’t you dare lecture me from your glasshouse.’

And then Jonah turns to look at me, letting me have the full force of the Jonah-Whiting stare. ‘I haven’t done anything wrong,’ he continues. His eyes are glistening as though tears are close. ‘It’s just a crush.’

‘But you took him to the tree house.’