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Sarah. She spoke to Aunty Lou for a few minutes, and then to Uncle Mungo. Sam and George hovered close by, trying to overhear, or to gauge by the expressions on their faces what was being said. Finally it was their turn.
    ‘Mum?’ said Sam breathlessly, sharing the phone with George, their heads touching above the receiver.
    ‘Sam – hi, sweetheart. Is George there too?’
    ‘Yeah, I’m right here, Mum,’ answered George.
    ‘The surgeons operated on Dad this morning. It took about seven hours, but they think they were successful. They won’t know for a few days, till they do some tests, but it looks good.’
    Sam could hear the tension in her voice. ‘Are you okay, Mum?’
    ‘Yeah. I’m pretty tired, that’s all. Haven’t had any sleep, but I will tonight. The worst is over, I think. We can all relax a little bit. Now we just have to wait for Dad to recover from the operation and then see what happens next.’
    ‘Mum, how long will you be away?’ George was trying hard not to sound like a little kid, but that was how he felt.
    ‘Oh, honey, I don’t know. I need to stay here with Dad till we know what’s happening. It’ll be a week at least, I think. Will you be okay?’
    George swallowed hard, and said, ‘Course we will. We’re gunna go back home and get everything right for Dad, so he doesn’t have to worry. Uncle Mungo said we’ll leave tomorrow. And Tess and Darcy are coming out to help.’
    ‘That’s great news. I’m really glad they’re going with you. You guys take care of yourselves though. No heroics, okay? And, Sam?’
    ‘Yeah, I’m here,’ answered Sam.
    ‘Look after your Uncle Mungo, won’t you? He’s feeling pretty bad at the moment.’
    Sam thought it was a bit odd that he should have to look after his uncle, but he agreed.
    They sat around after dinner that evening, watching the news with Aunty Lou and Uncle Mungo. Normally Sam wouldn’t have bothered, but he was too dispirited to do anything else. It was just the usual boring political stuff. However, when the next story started, he sat up and began to take some notice.
    ‘Flamin’ illegals,’ muttered Uncle Mungo with disgust.‘Look at ’em. Dunno why we bother with rubbish like detention centres and stuff. Waste of taxpayers’ money.’
    The image on the screen was of a group of people behind a high fence, holding on to the wire and staring forlornly through the mesh. There were some small children as well. They all looked desperate and hopeless.
    ‘… the arrival of two boatloads of people into Darwin last week,’ the voice-over was saying. ‘However, government policy is to send all illegal arrivals into detention offshore at Nauru. If they have reached the mainland, they are sent to one of the detention centres such as Port Hedland, until their status can be verified.’
    ‘Baloney!’ said Uncle Mungo, louder this time. ‘Blow ’em outta the water before they get here’s what they should do!’
    ‘Mungo!’ said Aunty Lou, shocked. ‘You can’t really mean that! They’re human beings, the same as us. They’ve gone through hell and high water to get here. I don’t believe people do that just for a better standard of living. They risk their lives to get here!’
    ‘Well they can sign up with Immigration like the others, and wait their turn. Why should they get special treatment just because they pay someone to ferry ’em in a leaky old boat? You think we should feel sorry fer’em? Cripes, Lou, they pay a lot of money to get here illegally.’
    Aunty Lou stared at Uncle Mungo for a moment, and then said a little more forcefully, ‘Yes, Mungo, I do feel sorry for them. They are running for their lives from desperate situations. Wouldn’t you pay everything you had to save your family from suffering and persecution?’
    Uncle Mungo looked a bit startled for a second, as if he had been caught off guard. But he recovered quickly, shrugging and shaking his head: ‘Sorry, Lou, can’t agree with you. We