Angel Rock. Darren Williams

kitchen, a wide-eyed audience of children peering round the doorjamb at them both. Pop swung the door shut and jerked his head and then there were only the two of them. Lil had set a candle on the table and Tom stared into the flame.

      ‘You look like you’ve been through the wars, Tom,’ Pop said.

      Tom nodded and was about to cry but then he gritted himself and stopped it.

      ‘I don’t know what’s happened to Flynn,’ he said. ‘I don’t know where he is.’

      ‘That’s all right, Tom. We’ll work that one out soon enough.’

      Pop looked at the boy. His face was pinched and pale and his large green eyes seemed about to fall out of their orbits. His clothes were about to give up the ghost and his bare legs were covered in scratches and scabs and there was a nasty-looking gash across his forehead. He appeared in serious need of a decent feed, a hot bath, and a good bed, but other than that he seemed in fair physical shape.

      ‘Wait there a minute, son, then we’ll get you home.’

      After he rang the doctor he had Lil fry up a couple of eggs for Tom to eat. Between tiny mouthfuls of egg and bread Tom told scraps of his story. A kangaroo, Flynn running, something about smoke. Pop listened and let him take his time. His nerves seemed to have taken a beating. He’d lost track of the days and was confused about the sequence of events leading up to the Saturday afternoon they’d gone missing. Soon the words dried up. Pop went into his room and came back with some clothes.