Not an animal. It must be a train. He stood and peered in the direction of the sound. And then a light…lights. It was a vehicle, not a train. He stepped towards the approaching, still-distant light and the lights, now two of them, grew. Headlights. He began to wave.

Heedless of any possible danger he moved from the platform and onto what he knew was the roadway. His waving became frantic, more frantic the closer the weaving headlights came. And they were weaving unsteadily, and not very quickly, towards where he stood. The vehicle, a truck, snaked to a stop.

For a moment there was nothing other than the grumbling sound of an old and uncertain engine. The sound of a window being wound down and a head poked through. ‘You the boy?’ A rough voice.

The boy, tentative now, approached and peered into the cab of the truck. The fumes of the old vehicle didn’t fully mask those of another unmistakable substance—beer. ‘Yes,’ he said, more uncertain. ‘I’m a boy.’

‘I can see you’re a bloody boy! What’s your name?’

‘Jake.’

‘That’s it, Dad. That’s him,’ another voice. ‘Sure as hell no one else around here.’ A rough laugh. ‘Looks half-drowned. Looks like a stinking skinned rabbit.’ More laughter.

‘Come on. Haven’t got all day—or all night.’ Another laugh. ‘Get your gear.’

‘I’ll just get my suitcase,’ said the boy.

‘Geez, Dad, right little pom we’ve got here. Listen to him. Can’t understand a word he says.’

He collected his suitcase and returned to stand by the cab of the truck. For a moment nothing was said. And then he asked, ‘Please may I get in?’

Loud laughter from inside. ‘No room,’ said the younger of the two. ‘You think we want a bloody drowned rat in here making us all wet?’

‘Up on the back, kid. That’s where you ride—not that you’ll have time to be riding anywhere. Get used to it,’ said the older man.

‘Chuck your bag in and climb up after it, Pommie,’ said the younger voice.