‘What’s it about?’ says the boy.
I turn around. He’s standing with Barry on the wooden deck outside. The two of them look like old friends.
‘What’s what about?’ I ask.
‘The book,’ he says.
‘It’s not about anything,’ I say.
‘It must be about something.’
‘Well, it’s not.’
It feels strange not to be doing what I normally do. Normally I’d be off to the shower block first thing. I’d be off with my toiletries bag and a towel, with all the other boys from the even-numbered cells. I look up at the kid standing in the doorway.
‘Listen, I’ve just woken up,’ I say. ‘Who are you, anyway?’
‘Is it about fishing?’ asks the boy.
‘What?’
‘The book,’ he says. ‘There’s a man on the front in a boat. And there’s a fish.’
I glance down at the book on the bed beside me.
‘Okay, yes,’ I say. ‘It’s about fishing. Well, kind of.’
And just like that the boy’s interest in the book seems to vanish. There’s a moment of nothing in his eyes, a kind of blankness, but when I get up and walk past him, the movement seems to spur him to life.
He follows me towards the jetty with Barry at his heels. When we reach the landing, he pipes up again.
‘You’re Nate,’ he says.
I stop and turn around.
‘How do you know that?’ I ask.
‘Mick said.’
‘Oh, he did, did he?’
‘Yeah. He said your mum died. He said your mum died and you got sad.’
‘What else did he say?’
‘He said you did some bad things and they sent you away.’
‘Oh yeah?’
‘And he said your dad’s a mean, angry, drunk piece of shit.’
I glance at the house, then look back at the kid.
‘You sweared,’ I say.
The boy looks into the sun, screws up his face and smiles.
‘Yeah.’
‘What’s your name?’ I say.
‘I’m Henry.’
‘Well, Henry. It was nice to meet you. Now bugger off. I’ve got things to do.’
But Henry just shrugs. He turns around and lies on his stomach on the landing, with his head over the edge. Barry snorts then shoves past me. He lies down beside Henry and the two of them gaze into the sun-kissed water, like it’s something they’ve done a hundred times before.
I met a lot of boys in Croxley, but this one is odd. Really odd.
After splashing some water onto my face, I leave them to it. I head back to the boathouse and find a pair of white Converse in the bag, along with a pair of grubby, pre-loved sport socks.
As I walk up past the house, Mick’s sitting on the verandah, nursing a cuppa.
He calls out as I go by. ‘Morning!’
I wave and walk on quickly, hoping no one decides to join me. The only sounds I can hear are the birds in the trees, but all that changes when I get to the turn-off where the gravel road widens. Soon I hear another sound, a motor chugging away somewhere in the distance. Surrounded by trees and scrub, I’m not sure where the noise is coming from at first, but as I walk further along the gravel road it gets louder and louder. I glance over my shoulder again and see Henry on one of those four-wheeler motorbikes, the ones with knobbly tyres that you see people hooning around on in the bush. I turn back and keep walking for a bit until he rumbles up beside me.
‘Where are you going?’ he says.
‘To the shops,’ I say. ‘Not that it’s any of your business.’
‘Can I come?’
‘No, you can’t. Haven’t you got somewhere else to go?’
Henry shakes his head. ‘Do you want a lift, Nate?’
‘No, thanks,’ I say.
‘You sure?’
‘Yes, I’m sure. What are you doing riding a motorbike anyway? Aren’t you like eight years old?’
‘Mick taught me,’ he says. ‘I’m not allowed to go all the way, but. Only to the end of the dirt bit.’
I start walking again. After eighteen months without privacy or space, without any real thing I could call my own, I’m desperate for some peace and quiet. Unfortunately, Henry has other ideas. He motors along beside me, smiling every now and then for no good reason at all. Fifty metres down the road and his presence starts to grate. I stop walking and pull up beside a tree.
‘Look, Henry … I’m serious. Haven’t you got something else to do?’
Henry looks to his right as if the answer might be hiding somewhere in the trees.
‘Nuh.’
‘Well, there must be something,’ I say.
‘There’s not. I like it at Mick’s place.’
‘What about your friends?’
‘I haven’t got any friends.’
‘No friends? A bloke who rides a quad bike? You must have some friends.’
Henry shakes his head.
There was always someone trying to prove something in Croxley. In fact, most of the time, it was impossible to work out who was telling the truth. After all the game playing and lies it’s hard not to like Henry’s honesty.
‘All right, then,’ I say. ‘I’ll get on. But no talking. It’s driving me mental. I don’t want to talk, okay?’
‘Okay, Nate.’
After hopping up into the passenger seat, I get comfortable, and the two of us rumble along at a slow and steady speed. I sink into the seat and close my eyes and listen to the sounds of the bush. In a tree nearby, a bird makes a high-pitched squawking noise.
‘That’s a lorikeet.’
I open my eyes and look at Henry. ‘What?’
‘That bird,’ he says. ‘It’s a rainbow lorikeet.’
‘I thought I said no talking.’
Another bird makes a strange whipping noise.
‘That one’s a whipbird,’ says Henry. ‘I can do ’em, you know?’
‘Do what?’
‘The birds,’ says Henry. ‘I can do the sounds. Go on, say one. Say one, and I’ll do it.’
I look around, hoping for inspiration. I can’t see any birds so I go with the one I saw by the river yesterday evening.
‘What are those black-and-white birds?’ I say. ‘The ones that dive into the river after the fish?’
‘That’s a cormorant,’ says Henry.
‘Okay,’ I say. ‘Do one of them.’
Henry makes a tuneful gargling sort of noise in his throat. It sounds remarkably authentic.
‘How did you learn that?’ I ask.
‘I just listen,’ says Henry. ‘I listen to the sounds and do ’em. Sometimes they do ’em back. The birds, I mean. I’ve got a pet snake at home. He doesn’t make any noise, but.’
We motor along for a few more minutes until we get to the end of the dirt road. Once we’re there, Henry parks the quad bike in a clearing off to the right. He kills the engine then walks over to a row of four letterboxes. He lifts the lid on the third in line, number eight, then places the keys inside.
The shops aren’t far from the start of the bitumen road so I begin walking, and Henry follows me.
‘Where did you go?’ he says.