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the perfect curve of his eyelashes against his cheek; the full pout of his mouth and the tiny diagonal scar that cuts through his upper lip; the faint shadow of his beard; the small diamond stud in his left ear, mostly covered by his almost black hair—though there are a few steely-gray hairs and lighter coppery-brown ones that are not really noticeable unless you’re staring; the hint of a tattoo on the side of his neck, black ink disappearing under the collar of his T-shirt; the muscles of his arms, defined even at rest, dark with hair; his fingers…. I glance up and see his eyes are open, watching me. Flustered, I tap on the window, cringing to my core.
    “Thought you might want some breakfast,” I nearly stutter as he winds the window down.
    Squinting, he takes the coffee and shifts round, dislodging Maisie, who yaps in indignation.
    “What time is it?” He yawns, glancing at my hair, his eyes fixing on it fractionally longer than seems polite.
    “’Bout seven, maybe quarter past.”
    He nods.
    “Feed that to the birds,” he says, gesturing at the toast. I’m grateful he doesn’t mention my haircut.
    By the time I’ve put the plate down, he’s downed the coffee. He hands me the empty cup.
    “I could take Maisie for a walk for you.” I don’t want him to go just yet.
    “Got work to do, kiddo,” he says grimly, starting the car.
    His whole attitude different now he’s sober. He glances at me one last time, and he drives away.
     
     
    T HE WRECKERS arrive Friday morning. The six of us not driving or directing them sit on the sun-bleached garden walls of the houses opposite to watch.
    Even though he’s picked me up in the mornings, things have been really strange between Finn and I since I left the camp without meeting Chase. So I’m surprised when he walks over, hands in pockets, to stand next to me as the huge steel wrecking ball prepares to tear through the building. The sound it makes as it swings through the air is a low, hollow wail, the sound of air expelled from a dying body. It hits the bricks with an explosive crunch. It’s all quite depressing really.
    “You still interested in that bit of extra work, kid?” he asks.
    It’s interesting Finn’s back to calling me kid, all formal and friendly, like he’s never had his finger up my arse and come all the harder because of it. Since that night I’ve been thinking more and more about leaving.
    We watch the bay window collapse onto what was once the front lawn. Shane leaps around in the cab of the wrecker as though it’s a personal victory.
    “Yeah,” I answer. Whatever work they have planned can’t be harder than this week has been.
    “Okay. We’re meeting tonight at eleven. I’ll pick you up.”
    Briefly I wonder how I’m going to get off the boat without Dad knowing. I can’t imagine what work Finn can possibly have planned for so late, but I nod all the same, determined to do this.
    “Are we meeting at the camp?”
    It’s hard to admit, but I want to see Malachi again, if only to ask him how he knew my mother, and I have no other reason to go there unless Finn or one of the others invites me.
    “No.” Finn says shortly.
    I watch the rest of the demolition alone.
    Since Jay got beaten up, I’ve been leaving the site early and getting a lift with one of the salvage trucks across town to his school to meet him when it finishes. Dad agreed to this arrangement and squared it with Bosco.
    Today I sit on the grassy common opposite the school, looking out for trouble as the bell rings and hundreds of kids stream out the main entrance. Jay is still bruised up pretty bad, but even if he wasn’t, I’d spot him a mile off. Head down, uniform hanging off his skinny frame, bag he managed to scavenge from lost property dragging on the floor. Tiredly he crosses the road and flops down on the grass next to me.
    I put my arm round his shoulders and give him a quick one-armed hug, expecting him to shrug me off, embarrassed that I’d do that