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them when they see ahead the dark shape of a farmhouse. Joe brings Sheila to a halt and they sit in the gloom, watching. They are quiet and still, waiting for some indication as to whether it is safe to go any further.
    A light comes on in the house. It illuminates what they take to be the kitchen. The figure of a woman, not young, Colm thinks, but not old either, moves about from table to stove, the hem of her clothes pawed at by two small children. The three of them watch thewoman lift the children into chairs stacked high on blocks and place bowls of food in front of them. The little girl can feed herself but the boy, who is smaller, waits with his mouth open for his mother.
    Colm realises he is hungry, imagines the others must be too.
    â€˜Any food left, Joe?’ he asks.
    â€˜A bit,’ says Joe.
    â€˜Maybe we could take it in to her,’ he says. ‘Maybe she’d let us cook it there. We can tell her we’ve got money.’
    Joe turns to Colm suddenly. ‘Look, son,’ he says, ‘you’re like you’re father in lotsa ways but one: you got no common sense. And it’s contagious. I don’t even know what I’m doin’ here watching some woman feed her kids when I could be eatin’ me own tucker in a pub in Midgin. And ya gotta stop talkin’ about ya money. Not everyone’s gunna be nice to ya, ya know. Sooner or later someone’s gunna take ya for a ride, and ya ain’t gunna have no money left. Dja understand?’
    Colm twists his face. ‘Sure, Joe,’ he says.
    â€˜Right,’ says Joe. ‘Come on then, both of youse.’
    They get out of the car and walk quietly towards the house. Joe knocks and they wait. Almost at once they hear footsteps and the sound of a gun being cocked.
    â€˜Who is it?’ demands a voice from the other side of the door.
    â€˜M’name’s Joe Hammersmith. I’ve come from Nurrengar. Got these kids here with me an’ wouldn’tmind finding out where we can get hold of some petrol ’n’ some water. Make it worth ya while.’
    The door opens slightly, and an eye appears in the gap, underlined by a chain hanging between the door and the post. The eye moves over the three of them. Colm can think of no reason why the woman should open the door to them. The eye rests on Joe, follows his form up and down, then the chain is slid back and the door opens. The woman lowers her gun.
    â€˜Don’t know if I can help you with the petrol,’ she says. ‘But I got a bit of water. And a bed if you want it.’
    They follow the woman, whose name is Marla, through the house and into the kitchen. Everything is faded, dilapidated, crumbling. But it is not unclean.
    â€˜Sit here,’ she says, and they sit on a long bench under the window. The two small children stare at them, terrified. The little girl starts to whimper, the little boy, taking his sister’s lead, to bawl.
    â€˜Hush Kiah, Ganan.’ Marla kisses the top of the little girl’s head and presses a spoonful of food into the little boy’s mouth. Their bottom lips protrude but they stop crying.
    â€˜They haven’t seen no one for a long time,’ says Marla. ‘Their dad left a while back with the two older ones. Been makin’ do ever since.’
    She serves her visitors a brew which she tells them will take away their thirst. ‘You don’t need much of it,’ she says. ‘It lines the mouth and throat long after thelast drop has been swallowed. That’s how we live out here, so far away from everything.’
    â€˜You got no bore water?’ asks Joe.
    â€˜A bit. Not much. Enough to get us by.’
    â€˜But what about Midgin?’ Colm asks. ‘Don’t you ever go there?’
    â€˜Used to,’ says Marla. ‘Not any more. Place had bad sewers, no water. Rats came in and bit everyone with their sick little teeth. Nobody lived. The rats took over. They own the