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a good vibe, but Adelaide’s home.’
    ‘Is this where you grew up?’
    ‘Yep. Mount Barker Primary School followed by Mount Barker High, then Adelaide University. I’m a local boy through and through.’
    ‘Why did you move to Sydney?’ I continue my interrogation.
    ‘Felt like a change after uni.’
    ‘Then why did you come back?’ I persist.
    ‘My nan fell ill. My mum lives in Perth. She doesn’t get along with her mum anyway so I got a job here and came back to keep Nan company.’
    ‘That was nice of you.’
    He shrugs. ‘I liked my nan. A whole lot more than I like my mum, in any case.’
    ‘Why don’t you like your mum?’
    ‘She’s a very selfish woman. Always has been. She didn’t want kids. I was a mistake and she made sure I knew it.’
    ‘That’s awful.’ His tone is flippant, but I still feel on edge. ‘What about your dad?’ I ask hopefully.
    ‘Who knows?’ He laughs a brittle laugh. ‘Never knew him. I sometimes wonder if my mum even knows who he is.’
    I stare at him, shocked. And I thought I had it bad. He gives me a wry smile.
    ‘Is your nan still around?’ I ask quietly.
    ‘Nope.’ He gets to his feet. ‘She passed away in the winter.’
    ‘I’m sorry.’ It sounds weak, but no other words come to mind.
    ‘Thanks,’ he replies. Then: ‘I have to check over the roos. Want to help me?’
    ‘I’d love to.’ I quickly stand and dust myself off. ‘What do I have to do?’
    ‘Check them over for any swellings, lameness, drooling, weepy eyes . . . We’re mostly monitoring for lumpy jaw.’
    ‘What’s lumpy jaw?’
    ‘A condition that causes abscesses on or near the jaw. It’s caused by an infection.’
    ‘Is it serious?’
    ‘Usually we can remove an infected tooth and give them antibiotics. It’s very important not to feed them any soft fruit. No bananas or pears. They need crunchy carrots and sweet potatoes, that sort of thing.’
    ‘Interesting,’ I comment and he smiles at me.
    ‘You can help me with the headcount,’ he says.
    One, two, three . . . I silently count them in my head. ‘Twenty-five,’ I determine as Ben gets on with checking over the roos.
    ‘There should be twenty-six,’ he says.
    ‘Twenty-six?’ My eyes scan the paddock.
    ‘Closer,’ Ben says. He’s staring pointedly at a kangaroo sprawled out on the ground about ten metres away. I watch inquisitively as he slowly ventures towards it. ‘You’re alright, old girl,’ he says soothingly as the kangaroo visibly tenses. I spy two legs poking out of her front pouch and my eyes widen as I belatedly realise that the twenty-sixth kangaroo is a baby – or ‘joey’, as I remember hearing them called on a wildlife documentary. The mother gets to her feet, her pouch bulging as the legs disappear and a tiny face appears in their place. I hold my breath as Ben quickly and efficiently checks over both kangaroos before the mother hops away. He looks across at me.
    ‘What are you waiting for? You can start with Freddie. Or Roy, if you prefer.’ He winks.
    It vaguely occurs to me as I work that it should feel strange that Ben opened up to me about his life like that. But it doesn’t feel strange at all.
    ‘Why are you doing the kangaroos today?’ I ask Ben as we walk back across the paddock.
    ‘Colleague called in sick.’
    ‘Are you heading over to the koalas now?’
    ‘Yep. Want to come with me?’
    ‘Yes, please. Is there anything I can do to help?’
    ‘You can help me weigh them, if you like?’
    ‘Cool.’
    And just like that, I make my first friend in Australia. A friend called Ben. I reckon Michael Jackson would have approved.
    My first few days fly by. I barely see Josh. He’s never up when his dad and I leave in the mornings, as the garage where he works in Mount Barker doesn’t open until nine, and he’s either tied to the television or out with his mates by the time we get home. Mum seems happy enough to let me do my own thing, and she spends her days cooking up a storm