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mouse impatiently, making the screen blur. “I told you, Mum – it’s not really free. It’ll be great publicity. We’ve got big plans for the centenary. There’ll be people coming down from the city – newspapers, TV, the whole thing. And Elijah will be back soon. He can help with the pots.”
    As she stopped talking, Hannah stopped clicking. The screen snapped back into focus and I leaned down towards it. The book was in thumbnail view now, showing everything at once. My page was in the middle somewhere, surrounded by pictures of the pool and Country Crafts and the newly sealed main street. Somewhere near the top of the screen was a photo of Finkle with a lever in his hand.
    And off to one side, something else.
    I drew in a quick breath.
    It was another newspaper clipping, dated a few months earlier than mine. There was another grainy photo – another tired couple, two more small bundles. Underneath were paragraphs of closely typed text. I leaned across Hannah and clicked on the magnifying glass icon to blow them up:
newborn tragedy, local man in hospital, possible brain damage, cause unclear, fatigue may be a factor, driver error likely say police.
Above them, the headline read: “Miracle Baby Survives Crash”.
    Hannah followed my gaze. “He’s in your class, isn’t he?”
    I nodded, peering forward. “Is this going in too?”
    Hannah shook her head. “No, that’s just something I found when I was going through some other stuff.” She tapped a finger repeatedly on the keyboard, enlarging Liam’s miracle-baby face until it filled the screen, huge and pixelated. “No point dredging all that up again. Not now everyone’s moved on.”
    I glared at her. Moved on? I couldn’t help but picture Liam’s curious gait, his too-long shorts, could almost feel, suddenly, the tightening grip of his father’s hand on my wrist.
    I reached for the mouse. “It’s time for dinner.”
    “Wait!” Panic flashed across Hannah’s face. “I haven’t saved it!”
    “It’s okay,” I said. “I’m only putting it on sleep.”
    She nodded. “What a surprise.”
    Elijah always used to tell me off for never shutting the computer down completely. He said it wasn’t good for it, that things need the chance to switch right off and then start again clean. But I couldn’t help myself. There was something about sleep mode that I found irresistible. I loved the way it suspended everything just the way it was. How everything went dark and quiet and still but when you opened it up it snapped back into life, all of it right there, just waiting for the light.
    I stared down at the computer. Then I clicked the button once, twice, and watched Liam’s face disappear as the screen faded to black.

eight
    Thunkity-thunk. Thunkity-thunk
.
    I didn’t look up from the mosaic. This was a tricky bit, snipping the blue tiles just right so they would fit into the outline I’d traced for Tuckers Supermarket. We each had a section to work on and when they were done, we were going to piece them all together like a giant floor puzzle. It was important to get the edges right, to follow the template so it all worked, so everything fit the way it was supposed to.
    But even without looking, I knew what the familiar
thunkity-thunk
was. For me, this was the soundtrack to every school day – Liam’s feet kicking rhythmically at my chair from the desk behind.
    It had annoyed me at first. I used to turn around and tell him to stop. He would, for a while, but then it would start up once more and when I turned around again he would look surprised, like he hadn’t realised, like his legs had simply taken on a life of their own.
    After a while, I stopped saying anything. A while later, I stopped minding.
    After a longer while, I kind of started liking it.
    It got so that if he was away, I missed it. It was like a background hum you don’t even realise is there until it’s gone and the air around you feels empty all of a sudden.
    In some ways, that