Frankie Fey - 17. Real Estate

Each morning Frankie woke to the glorious realisation that he was free of the restrictions, constrictions and expectations of the University in which he now felt he had been imprisoned for three years. It hadn't all been bad, of course. He’d been awarded an Arts degree and wrought major social changes in the place, as well as learning a lot of very useful tricks for living. But apart from Laurent, and perhaps Prudence, he’d made no friends he wanted to see again. For the moment he was content to drift; not impatient to start anything new, and not under the slightest pressure from anyone to do or be anything other than himself. Bliss.

Apart from a spectacular electrical storm with exceptionally strong winds that had brought down large branches and a couple of old trees, the weather gods had provided plenty of sun with the occasional shower. Karmai was pleased to have help in checking the boundaries and forest, and Sylvan too appreciated a hand with the constant maintenance required with all large properties. So there was plenty to do and even more to think about.

Directly after breakfast he would slip his feet into sandals, sling his bow and quiver across his back, and head off into the forest in search of hares that had been debarking trees, and foxes, dogs and cats that had been killing the young of endangered native animals. If he found a pleasant spot he’d sit, open his mind and try to regain the near rapture of meditation he’d achieved in Tasmania. But something had changed. He was no longer lonely or desperate. Probably too comfortable. His head seemed too full of information, ideas, questions—junk that interfered whenever he tried to stop thinking. The more he tried to empty his mind the fuller it became, chasing the serenity of meditation even further out of reach. He should do something that would stretch his brain. Take a risk. But not now. Life was too good to risk jeopardising things. Perhaps later. For the moment he wanted to simply enjoy feeling relaxed, calm and contented without guilt.

When the video of his dance with Prudence arrived, Frankie told no one, deciding to watch it in private in case it was a disaster. It wasn’t, she had done a fine job, seamlessly editing shots from all three cameras to create a twenty-minute show from a fifteen-minute performance. Glowing with pride and anticipation he cooked a healthy, if tasteless dinner and invited Karmai and Sylvan to join them. They all munched stoically, wondering why their host seemed so nervously excited. After ushering them into the lounge with glasses of cold tea and directions to sit in front of the video screen, he pressed the button and sat back. Too late to stop now.

The reactions were all Frankie had hoped for. Disbelief when they saw what he was not wearing. Admiration at his agility, dancing skills and professional competence. Shocked delight at the first pas de deux. Raucous laughter as the satyr tore off the nymph’s clothes. Wolf whistles and shouts of joy when Frankie returned, pirouetting with an erection. Silent awe at Prudence’s splits, the penetration and the balancing act as they moved back to the rock. Disbelieving chuckles during the subsequent savage rutting.

‘You actually fucked her on stage in front of a thousand people!’

‘Nearer fifteen hundred, actually.’

‘Everyone could see your cock thrusting in and out!’

‘I did my best to ensure that.’

‘You both had ginormous orgasms!’

‘Of course! That's what it was all about.’

‘From the noise, I imagine the audience was not universally appreciative.’

‘He who hopes to please everyone is doomed to disappointment.’

‘But you enjoyed yourself.’

‘Immensely!’

‘Which begs the obvious question… why did you do it?’

‘I’d been wanting to know what it was like to screw a female ever since I was twelve, and when I told Prudence, she confided that she was equally curious. In her case about two things: the feel of a real penis manipulated by its owner, compared to a dildo, finger or tongue, and if she was able to conceive a child.’

‘Do you want to have a kid?’

‘Fuck no! As soon as she knows she’s pregnant, she’ll abort it.’

‘Are you sure? Women are strange creatures.’

‘Prudence is stranger than most, and the last thing she would want is a parasite in her guts… her words.’

‘Why didn’t you just fuck some girl in your room?’

‘I tried with three nubile wenches. I petted and groped, sucked on nipples, shoved fingers into holes, and tongue down throats… all the usual stuff that has normal guys creaming their jeans, but nary a twitch from my not so lusty sword. If anything it shrank! So I thanked them for the fun, but confessed that as I was saving myself for marriage, I’d better stop before their seductive charms forced me to break my vow of celibacy. They accepted the lie with pride, and I accepted that I was queer when it came to females. If I’d carried on attempting to fuck, within a week the entire female population of the university would have learned I'm heterosexually impotent, and that would have been the end of my reputation.’

‘I still don’t see how that led to your magnificent performance.’

‘While in the confessing mood with Prudence, I admitted that the idea of sex in front of a large appreciative audience was so appealing it’d be certain to increase my libido and ensure a pleasurably propitious outcome. Prudence was unsurprised, and confessed she’d made a lot of money at high school by masturbating in a live nude peep show in the city, so would I join her in a dance she’d been choreographing? Whether or not it was theatrically successful, we would both have satisfied our curiosity.’

‘Had you ever had sex in front of an audience before this performance?’

‘That's for me to know, father dear,’ Frankie grinned. ‘All you need to know is that I inherited the proclivity from my mother.’

‘Virtue? What…?’

‘She was generous with her favours, and when I caught her with the window cleaner, the pizza delivery boy, the TV repair man, the gas man… she was always pleased to see me.’

‘Poor Virtue.’

‘Not so poor, she had a good life.’ Frankie patted Ingenio on the shoulder and deposited a tender kiss on his forehead. ‘To prove my point, or lack of it, Prudence and I rehearsed all our dance routines naked, but not even once did I get an erection, so our major worry was that I had to guess where the head of my cock would be when I lifted her up and shoved it in while she was doing the splits. Luckily she was so hot and horny on stage it sort of found its own way. If it hadn't we’d have skipped that bit and gone straight to the doggy episode on the rock. It all worked out well, I reckon.’

‘And you never worried beforehand that you’d not get an erection on stage?’

‘Never crossed my mind.’

‘Well, it sure worked for me,’ Karmai sighed. ‘I've never seen a porno film anywhere near as much fun as this. When you impaled her and circled around, both leaning back with your arms out it was… beautiful.’

‘Thanks.’

‘Yes,’ Ingenio was thoughtful. ‘It was beautiful. You managed to make an act of animal lust seem natural and the opposite of disgusting—whatever that is.’

‘Delightful?’ Con suggested.

‘That’s it. Delightful… almost sweet.’

‘And the lighting and set,’ Sylvan added. ‘They were superb! Seriously, Frankie, this is a true classic. It’s great Art! I want a copy.’

‘You shall have it.’

‘It’ll go viral on the Internet.’

‘No,’ Ingenio was adamant. ‘That would cheapen it. Keep it for sending to your friends as a gift, and to prospective employers.’

‘And as a “Vote for Me” video when I stand for parliament?’

‘Yeah, that sort of thing.’

The four men laughed and looked at their favourite son with even greater respect, admiration and love—if that were possible.

Copies were made and Frankie was content. He’d fucked a female, had enormous fun doing it, and didn’t have to do it again.

Every day he checked the walkable boundary; more than twelve kilometres, some of it along the top of vertical cliffs, some along the bottom. One boundary with the National Park was a stream that fed a fine bathing pool perched almost on the edge of a vertical drop, over which the stream plunged to join a creek below. Walking was tough going at times, occasionally the track he’d roughly hacked was incredibly steep but always exhilarating. He loved best the lightly wooded glades.

The eastern boundary was shared by a large, treed, private block nearly as large as Frankie’s. To the south the boundary was entirely national park, as was about half the western boundary. To the north, his property ran behind private, five and ten acre blocks with road frontages. The entrance to “85” looked the same as those, but was really only a narrow right-of-way leading up from the gate to the large acreage behind. All the private blocks had houses nestling among the trees, invisible from each other and the road.

One afternoon, carrying a dog he had just shot, Frankie was jogging along a flat stretch when he noticed several sight lines that had been freshly cut through dense forest along the National Park boundary. He followed the sound of voices to a couple of surveyors. They were friendly enough, taking more interest in the fact that he was hunting successfully with a bow and arrow than what he wasn’t wearing. When asked about the removal of trees and bushes they said they were making the first totally accurate map of the National Park boundaries. Why? Because the government was going to sell it. Why? A shrug of shoulders. They didn’t know and didn’t care. Frankie didn’t trust himself to continue the conversation, so thanked them and returned home, deeply concerned.

So were Ingenio and the others, who began wondering if their neighbours knew about it. They probably didn’t, because they too were semi recluses, living in the forest for the peace, quiet and privacy, greeting each other on the road or in town, but not desiring social contact.

‘When I think about it,’ Sylvan said with a frown. ‘It’s a bloody long time since I've seen any of them.’

Con suggested Frankie visit them to check if they knew any more than the surveyors.

The following day he put on a pair of shorts and visited; not by crossing the boundary and approaching from the forest like a criminal, but as he would have them do if they visited him, by jogging along the road and entering through the gate and walking up their drive like an honest man.

Every house was empty, and looked as if it had been for several months. Overgrown gardens, dried out patio plants. Sad. He continued into town to ask about the empty properties, but the estate agent was close-mouthed until he realised Frankie was the owner of “85”. Then his complaints seemed unstoppable.

How did people think real estate agents could make a living if they all made private sales? Ten properties along that stretch of road, all sold to goodness knows who for god knows how much money and the agent hadn't seen a cent of commission from what had to be millions! There should be a law against it! Why they were sold and to whom, he had no idea. It all happened so fast. One day the owners seemed like normal happy locals; one had a craft stall at the local market, and the next they were gone. No goodbyes, nothing. ‘It just shows you never know people. You think they're your friends and then they just up and leave you.’

Frankie assured the agent he would use his services if he ever decided to sell, and returned home, now nervous as well as worried. That evening Sylvan and Karmai came for dinner to discuss it.

‘It’s obvious,’ Karmai said with a shrug of resignation. ‘You whiteys keep hanging onto the pathetic notion that your elected government will govern in the best interests of all citizens. But no government in history has ever done that. Look at my people. Two and a half centuries after invasion we’re still rotting in poverty and prisons. What decent person would want to lord it over others? Not one. Violent bullies become policemen, and scheming selfish arseholes become politicians, telling everyone else what to do and how to live. Everyone knows that all governments are corrupt, making laws for the benefit of those who’ll grease their palms with filthy lucre.’

‘Hope springs eternal,’ Sylvan sighed.

‘Thank you, Karmai, we all agree politicians are a corrupt bunch, so what do you think is going on?’

‘What they’ve been doing forever, stealing people’s land for their mates. National Parks belong to everyone, not the government.’

‘You have a good point,’ Con pacified. ‘But why? Who’d want to buy mainly steep bushland so far from the city?’

‘Loads of people’ Karmai growled. ‘Come on, Ingenio, boot up the computer and find out who bought those properties and if they're the same people who wanted this block.’

They crowded around, offering suggestions that slowed and impeded the investigation, but eventually Ingenio found what he wanted.

‘There's no secret about state-owned land. The government wants to sell off this section of the National Park to reduce their infrastructure debts. Then private developers will tender for the construction of a new city up here.’

‘Who for and why?’

‘For the rich and powerful to escape all the pollution I suppose. They don’t say it in words, but that’s what they mean.’

‘But rich bastards already have their harbour side mansions and riverside holiday homes and canal estate castles… why aren't they satisfied?’ Sylvan was angry.

‘Because humans can never be satisfied. It’s why we’re in the shit with the climate and everything else.’

‘Yep. Three thousand years ago some wise Greek philosopher told everyone that more than enough is too much. But no one listened then, and no one’s listened since.’

‘Got it!’ Ingenio hissed into the computer. ‘The Ministry for the Environment’s latest climate and environmental forecast. This snippet’s from their “Not for public dissemination” file. Listen to this. The melt rate of all glaciers on Greenland’s eastern coastline has accelerated sharply. Reliable predictions are for a catastrophic slide within three years.’ He searched again. ‘Here’s an interesting document. “Consequences for Australia of the Greenland ice shelf sliding… bla bla bla… will be… bla bla bla… ah here we are… a rise in sea level of up to four metres. There’s your answer, Sylvan. Harbourside mansions and riverside holiday homes will be under water, so they’ll be moving up here with the clean air and views over the catastrophe below.’

‘And what about all the poor non-rich pricks?’

‘That’s the plan,’ Karmai sneered. ‘The rich guys’ve been wondering what to do with the unemployed workers when all the jobs are done by robots…. they’ll let them drown. That's why it’s in the official secrets file, so they won’t make a fuss before it happens.’

‘Even the New South Wales government wouldn’t do that.’

Constantine’s laugh was derisive. ‘Wanna bet?’

By the end of the evening they had learned that the construction contract was most likely going to an American company because the Chinese bidders wanted to preserve twenty percent of the land for green spaces and wildlife corridors, but the Americans were prepared to sacrifice green space to provide twenty percent more dwellings, and that would mean greater revenue for the government.

‘They’ll be paying top dollars for the land, so that's why Tony Carracci and Owen Lodes were trying to get this place for nothing. Then when they sold it to the developer it'd be pure profit.’

‘I wonder if our neighbours were terrorised into selling like they tried to do with us. It’s certainly very odd that they all left. Let’s try to contact them and find out.’

‘Do we want to know?’

‘Definitely. Because if that's what happened we can expect more nasty visitors.’

‘Why is our place so valuable?’

‘Without it, all they’ll have is a doughnut; a ring of properties with a huge hole in the middle.’

‘Why don’t the developers themselves come in and buy?’

‘In case it all falls through. They don’t take risks. That's what sharks like Tony do. And it’s a political ploy too. If the electorate learned that foreign companies were buying up national parks, there’d be uproar and the deal would fail. So the usual practice is to keep it a secret by having Australians buy first, and then spring it on an unsuspecting public when it’s too late for them to do anything about it.’

‘There’s no problem keeping things secret, because banks and corporations own all media. The government’s just doing their dirty work for them for kickbacks.’

‘So what do we do?’

‘We need more information. I’ll get onto it tomorrow while you guys work on ways to increase our security. I don’t want to sell, but I also don’t want to be surrounded by luxury slums.

Karmai and Sylvan set to work on increasing the security of "85".

Ingenio got busy, found the names of their ex neighbours and their new addresses, and together with Frankie visited them all, learning that none had wanted to sell. All had been more or less terrorised into selling at a ridiculously low price, and threatened with unnamed terrors if they complained. The one person who had complained to the police, disappeared a month later while walking to the shops. The cops said they were too busy to follow up the complaint. Another man’s brakes failed when he was too slow in agreeing to the contract. His wife ended up with spinal injuries and will never walk again. The cops tried to blame the husband, said he wanted to get rid of his wife. All of the previous neighbours would love to get their property back. No real estate companies were involved; they were all private sales.

‘They gave us copies of the documents,’ Ingenio said. ‘The same person did the transfers of all five properties with the Lands Department. Her name is Avarisha Louka. She has an office in central Sydney.’

Constantine prepared himself for a visit to the lawyer.

*****

Karmai and Sylvan’s beefed up front gate looked slightly more formidable than before, requiring a tank to get through—or the combination of the heavy-duty lock. Five more security cameras had been hidden on the road frontage and at the gate. Visitors had to use a local landline phone placed to the left of the gate, then wait for someone to come down and let them in. A small electric scooter parked by the garage made that a quick trip.

‘Ok, What's next, Con?’ Karmai was impatient to get started on stopping the sale of the National Park, and punishing the extortionists.

‘Acting as Frankie's lawyer, I will pay this woman a visit and get the names and addresses of the people she did the conveyancing for. You and Sylvan will be my back-up strong men waiting close by to save me if I ring you. And with Frankie's assistance, Ingenio will inundate social media with news about the impending sale of one of the nations most beautiful National Parks for development by foreigners, as well as the projected flooding within the next three years of all low-lying areas, and the government’s secret dealings to ensure the welfare of the wealthy.’

‘Sounds good.’

‘I’ll also find some way of alerting property owners about the stand-over tactics of middlemen buyers.’ Ingenio added. ‘Ah, the wonders of the Internet. Free email no matter the volume. It can’t be long now before ISPs start charging.’

‘Are you absolutely certain you can remain anonymous, Ingenio? Surely everything that leaves your computer to whisk around the Internet has an origin tag, or whatever it’s called?’

‘Nothing’s completely certain, Karmai. You're right that everything uploaded is given a tag identifying the Internet Service Provider, but fortunately there are thousands of them. I use a program that allows me to choose what provider to use, and if I randomly select and only use each ISP once, there’s no pattern so they're not going to notice if I piggyback. And even if they do, they won’t find the origin of the data. The Internet may be wonderful, but it’s also the most dangerous tool humans have ever invented and will be our eventual downfall. Meanwhile we may as well make use of it. My pupils—sixty-eight thousand and fifty-one at the last count, will receive anonymous emails from new protest groups with names and codes that will fool spam filters, explaining what’s happening and inviting them to a protest rally in Martin Place. Affordable donations will be solicited to make them seem genuine, all the money going through a laundry service I set up ages ago, before landing in the coffers of ANTaR.’

‘Good one, Ingenio. And if we need more muscle, I can depend on over a hundred young men I've kept out of trouble since we came here. They're supposed to be criminals, but I’d trust all of them further than any politician or cop. What a world humans make for themselves.’

‘Don’t you want to remain as anonymous as possible?’ Karmai asked innocently. ‘Surely the fewer people who know you're involved, the safer you and the rest of us will be?’

‘Of course, but…’

‘I assume your non-criminal mates are human?’

‘Con nodded.

‘Then they will tell their mates what they're doing because they’ll be proud to be taking down the big bad guys. You'll be a hero and a saviour and on the news before you can blink.’

‘He’s right, Con,’ Sylvan agreed. ‘We five have something precious to lose. Those guys have nothing to lose and everything to gain. We must retain our anonymity.’

Con looked around, saw the serious nods and conceded. ‘You're right. I was getting carried away. Felt like Castro leading the downtrodden against the vile capitalist exploiters. Sorry.’

‘Forgiven,’ Frankie laughed. ‘But I must have more to do than give Ingenio a hand.’

‘You are in charge of keeping this place going, answering phones, making meals, making yourself useful without getting into trouble. You're tough but innocent. We’re able to keep our heads when all about us are losing theirs. You, dear boy, would race into battle and get yourself shot.’

‘Like the way Sylvan did when I saved you all with my bow and arrow?’

‘Ah yes.’ Con looked at Sylvan who blushed.

‘I'm dispensable, Frankie,’ Sylvan said seriously. ‘You are not. You are the owner, the person with the legal right to hang on to this place. Were I in charge of you I’d send you away until all this is over.’

Karmai rounded on Sylvan, grabbed a fistful of chest hair and shoved his face into his. ‘You are not fucking dispensable, Sylvan. You are the most precious person here, as far as I'm concerned. And if you do anything stupid like that again, I’ll… I’ll…’ He shook his head to stop the emotion. ‘But I agree that Frankie must stay out of this. You're a great guy, Frankie, we all love you, but you're not nasty enough yet. Leave this to us. If we have to worry about you then we’ll be in danger of stuffing up.’

‘He’s right,’ Ingenio said. ‘I don’t want to be concerning myself about you when I'm concentrating on making waves.’

‘Ok,’ Frankie shrugged. ‘I’m flattered, and I’ll keep out of your hair—until you come begging me to put a poisoned arrow into someone. How about I print off a few leaflets and paste them here and there in the town?’

‘Promise not to be seen doing it?’

‘Promise.’

*****

Avarisha Louka’s name, legal degree, hours of business and phone number were displayed in neat gold letters on the glass panel of a discreetly dark green door situated between a bank and a sports shop. They entered and climbed steep, carpeted stairs to the first floor where the lawyer had her rooms. The only occupant of the no-frills waiting room was a pale and wan young man with long, greasy hair, sitting behind a computer. He looked up guiltily. Con apologised for not having an appointment, but needed to see Ms Louka. The young man shut down his screen, told Con to take a seat, and disappeared into the room behind.

Con remained standing until, about five minutes later, a largish, somewhat shapeless woman in early middle age and a dusty pink dress, opened her door, eyed the visitor coolly, and invited him in. Her room was large and carpeted wall to wall in nondescript brown and beige and orangey shapes. Ideal for parties where the guests are prone to technicolour burps. The air, a toxic brew of stale cigarette smoke and overpowering perfume, caused Con to breathe shallowly and decide to keep the interview short. Shelves filled with books and folders made a floor to ceiling backdrop for the imposing desk and it’s glowering owner, who sat down with a slight grunt, waved Con to the chair in front, raised questioning eyebrows and asked rudely, ‘Who are you and what do you want?’

Con smiled pleasantly, secure in the knowledge that he who keeps his temper longest wins. ‘I’m Constantine Tollirint, representing Frankie Fey,’ he said clearly, noting a twitch in the otherwise dead face. ‘He owns a large property in the mountains just east of Katoomba, backing on to the National Park. When all his neighbours sold their properties, he decided to sell too, but so far no one has shown any interest. So I contacted a friend in the Land Transfer Office who told me you had done the conveyancing. Acting under Mr. Fey’s instructions, I am here in the hope you can put me in contact with the people who are buying in that area.’

Ms. Louka’s face remained impassive. ‘You are saying that Mr. Fey wants to sell?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why?’

‘He’s had enough of romantic isolation. Being in his thirties he’s come to the conclusion he quit the bright lights too soon… I think.’ Con pulled a wry face as if to share silent criticism of his client.

With no acknowledgement of his attempt at familiarity, the woman stated bluntly, ‘Give me his details and I will contact the buyers.’

‘I would prefer to approach them myself.’

‘Not possible.’

Con sighed. ‘Then I've wasted my time. Mr. Fey had intended to use the local Estate Agent, but I convinced him it would be better for him to use the people already familiar with these sorts of transactions.’ He stood and held out a hand. ‘So, as we are unable to do business, I’ll visit the other fellow.’

A flicker of fear. ‘Sit down, Mr. Tollirint. I was merely trying to save you time. Of course you may have the name of the buyer. I will post it to you as soon as possible.’

Con remained standing. ‘No thanks. I'm in a hurry. I know from experience that a lawyer’s soon as possible can mean weeks. If you haven’t got the details, or permission to tell me, please just say so.’

This time the annoyance was obvious. She stared at Con as if to read his mind. After a few seconds he shrugged and moved to the door as if he’d given up.

‘Here,’ she snapped, scribbling on the back of one of her business cards, then handing it to him. ‘This person bought the other properties.’ She stared at him, lip curling contemptuously. ‘I’ve heard about you, Mr. Tollirint, keeping riff-raff out on the streets instead of locked away where they belong. The world you're now playing in is very different. I suggest you buy yourself a long spoon.’

A nervous chill ran down Con’s spine as he nodded, turned and left. Despite having maintained his composure he didn’t feel he had won anything.

He joined Karmai and Sylvan at a coffee shop two blocks away and they drove to a small park on the harbour where they could talk privately.

‘There’s only one person buying, so I'm guessing our two buyers were working for him, and probably the blokes who intimidated the other property owners to sell were working for him too. So he’s the one we have to go to. I've never heard of him, which is no doubt deliberate. But Ms Louka seemed frightened. She told me to buy a long spoon. What did she mean?’

‘It’s an old saying,’ Karmai explained. ‘He who sups with the devil needs a long spoon. I went to a mission school for a while and they were always saying that, meaning don’t get too close to bad people or you’ll get hurt.’

‘Good advice.’

‘What's the bloke’s name?’ Sylvan asked.

Con handed him the card on which Ms Louka had scrawled, A. Thrope, and a phone number.

‘What sort of name’s Thrope?’

‘An odd one.’

‘And why are we so sure it’s a bloke? Loads of females just use initials so no one will guess they're not men. Writers of gay erotica are mainly females with names like Alex or Kris. Have you read any of their stuff?’

‘No’

‘Don’t, it’s just Mills and Boone with erections. Fantasy crap that does more harm than good to young guys questioning their sexuality. They need a dose of reality, not wet-dream fantasy.’

‘I've never read any gay stuff; thought I was a heterosexual till I met Karmai. Do you reckon I ought to? You know… make myself more knowledgeable?’

‘There's nothing to know. We’re all individuals doing whatever we think is best for us. It’s only our enemies who say we’re all the same.’

‘Yeah, right-wing nut jobs and religious crackpots. Apparently they're usually closet queers, trying to divert attention from their own lusts. Poor buggers.’

*****

Back at “85” Ingenio had sent out his bulletins while Frankie prepared a score of notices. After dark he would stick them up around the town.

Pretending he wanted to look at what Ingenio was doing on the computer, Frankie leaned closer and blew lightly on his neck. ‘I reckon necks are the most beautiful part of a man’s body,’ he said softly. ‘They are the graceful, powerful columns that support our intelligence and wisdom.’

‘It’s too hot for philosophising, no matter how poetic’ Ingenio grunted.

Frankie lightly kissed the tanned column.

Ingenio carried on looking at the screen.

He placed his hands on Ingenio's shoulders and massaged them lightly.

‘You’re radiating so much heat my back’s pouring with sweat. Let’s go for a swim.’

‘Yeah, race you.’

They exchanged shorts for sandals, Frankie grabbed a large towel and they jogged down the track to the swimming hole where a trickle of water ran down rocks into a pool about as wide and deep as the average Jacuzzi. The surrounds were rocky, so they slithered carefully into the cool liquid, sat on smooth rocks and wallowed in silence.

‘Ah, bliss.’ Ingenio sighed. ‘Another reason not to have air-conditioning. We’d not bother to come down here if the house was cool.’

Frankie reached over and removed a twig from Ingenio’s hair.

Ingenio laughed. ‘You're a fusspot, you know that?’

‘I’m just…’

‘Just in need of a boyfriend and something useful to do.’ Ingenio lay back on the warm rock, closed his eyes and relaxed.

Frankie sat leaning against a boulder and consciously studied this man he thought he knew. Ingenio looked the same as always, but… smaller somehow. Of course Frankie had grown and Ingenio hadn't over the last four years. Even so he seemed more slightly built—less robust than Frankie had always imagined. Not fragile. Lean and… spare. That was the word. No flesh to waste, but fit and healthy. A sudden protective urge swept through Frankie when he realised he was now taller, heavier and physically tougher than his father.

‘Inge,’ he said softly, ‘I’m really grateful that you pretended to be me when the heavies came knocking. I could never have faced them like you did, but I'm older now and tougher, so it’s time I took responsibility for myself. Is that Ok?’

‘Very Ok,’ Ingenio said with conviction. ‘I’ve never enjoyed telling lies and I was terrified each time.’ He gave a short laugh. ‘Believe me, it’s a relief to know that next time someone wants to meet Frankie Fey they’ll be dealing with you; as long as you promise to always take care.’

‘I promise.’

They lay contentedly gazing up at the sky through leaves and eucalyptus flowers. A parrot screeched. Three large black butterflies chased each other. Cicadas chirruped.