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laughing as they wrestled, closer to a giggle even, and it was impossible to be angry with that.
    ‘Say I’m not a liar then,’ Dougal wheezed, his knees pinning Colin at the elbows now. Colin looked at the face breathing close above him. There was a scar down one side of his forehead, as smooth as melted wax, and around his eyes were wrinkles, as if he had spent all of his short life caught in laughter.
    ‘Say I’m not a liar.’
    ‘I’m saying nothing,’ Colin replied.
    ‘Then you’re nothing to me. Nothing but shit.’
    Too fast, Dougal leaned forward, scooped a handful off a nearby cowpat and smeared it across Colin’s face. Then he was standing, dancing his victory out amongst the manuka.
    ‘There you are. You can follow their scent now. You’re luckywe weren’t closer to your own shit, I would say. I have to go now. I’ll be seeing you later though, I would think.’
    Colin sat forward and watched Dougal run back down the hill, as barefooted as Colin was, and as happy as he’d like to be. And although he was ear to ear in cow shit, and none of it made sense, somehow he knew it was a start.
    * * *
    The dreams stopped then, no matter how hard Colin tried to bring them back, and although he kept his eyes peeled along the perimeter fence for signs of Dougal he didn’t see a thing. He watched the driveway too, waiting for the rolling dust of the Welfare Officer’s car. Although summer was well finished and the days were shortening, it had remained dry. Colin’s body had become used to the work. His arms had changed colour, turned to a brown he’d never seen before. His face too, probably, but he didn’t have a mirror. He was stronger. He liked to watch the lines in his forearms when he worked at something heavy, and these days he wasn’t as tired when evening came. Three days he watched, and practised his speech inside his head, and the fourth day the Officer came.
    ‘What are you doing?’ Mr Sowby demanded.
    They were digging a hole to bury a cow that had died in the night. Colin, who had heard the car approaching, had stopped and was leaning on the end of his spade.
    ‘A car’s come up the drive.’
    ‘That’s nothing to do with you.’
    ‘Yes it is. It’s my Welfare Officer,’ Colin told him. He could see the surprise on Mr Sowby’s face, that he might know about the visit, and that he would answer back.
    ‘You looking for a hiding?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Get digging then.’
    The hole was almost finished and they set about scooping out the last of the dirt, but Colin could see from Sowby’s sweating face that he was thinking about the Welfare Officer too.
    ‘Here, you get it in and be sure to cover it over properly. I’ll go and see what that car’s all about.’
    ‘But I…’
    ‘You’ll stay here if you know what’s good for you.’
    Mr Sowby wandered off, hitching his trousers up from behind the way he did whenever he walked. It wasn’t that he didn’t have a belt. Colin had felt it often enough. Colin desperately wanted to follow, but he had been doing as he’d been told for too long, and his legs wouldn’t take him. Pumped with frustration he climbed out of the hole and dug his spade hard beneath the back of the dead cow, watching its carcass shudder at the impact and feeling the resistance tingle back along his arm. Using the spade for leverage, the way he’d seen Mr Sowby do it, he pushed up against the handle with all his strength, gritting his teeth and swearing as he dug in with his feet. The weight of the cow fought back, impassive and seemingly immovable, but Colin wouldn’t let it go. He pushed again and the huge body, settled at the side of the deep hole, rose slightly. The weight shifted and suddenly there was no resistance at all. The cow tumbled gracelessly into its grave. Colin looked down at it, the froth of the last struggle still bright on its mouth and nostrils, and he cried. Cried at the thought of them talking to his Welfare Officer, and telling whatever