Dirty Joe didn't say anything once I'd finished my story. Usually adults have something to say. They'll tell you what you should have done, or what you did wrong, or something. But Dirty Joe wasn't like other adults. We went on talking about other stuff instead.
He asked me if I liked to read, and I said yeh, but there weren't many books at Crapper – good ones anyway. And he said, "Stay right there, I've got something for you," and he went away somewhere, and when he came back he had the thickest book I'd ever seen in my life.
"Wow!" I said.
"You can borrow it."
"Really? It's huge."
"Not if you read it a bit at a time. You don't have to read the whole bloody thing in one go."
I knew I'd never be able to finish this gigantic book, but I didn't want to disappoint him so I agreed to give it a go. It was an old book, dog-eared and with Sellotape all over the spine. The cover was scary. There was a black rabbit on it – a black rabbit with red eyes. Its ears were tattered.
"It was my favourite when I was young," he said, and there was something in his eyes when he said it, and when he saw me watching him he looked away.
"Thanks," I said.
"No problem. Well, I gotta get back to work. Stay outta trouble."
I gave him a hug. It seemed to surprise him. Then I picked up the book and raced away into the hot sun, past the patch of freshly-turned earth where the cat lay.