Danny Allen Was Here (16 page)

At the bottom of the tin were flaky remnants of the
snakeskin he’d found in rocks near the old Miller homestead the day Sam had surfed the Everest Dune. Danny didn’t lift them as they would have dissolved in his fingers.

When he held up the tuft of wool belonging to Stanley the ram Danny told his dad the story of Mark Thompson, Sam and the ram race to the playground.

His dad laughed.

Danny went on to show some teeth from his ram’s skull. He wasn’t allowed to keep the whole skull so he had broken some teeth off and put them in.

When Danny finished showing his treasures, his dad patted his knee firmly. ‘That’s a great tin, son. Don’t lose it, will you?’

Danny shook his head firmly. ‘I won’t ever, Dad.’ Then he bent over and reached down to his feet. He held up the red box that Aunty Jean had given him. When he tore it open he was happy with what he found.

He offered the box to his dad. ‘Aunty Jean’s Anzac biscuit, Dad?’

‘Wow! Cheers, mate.’

Mr Thompson took two.

The truck gathered speed and rumbled quickly along. Into the shadows of the creek it roared and rattled up the other side.

Danny munched on his biscuits and stared out of
the window wondering what tomorrow would bring. A song came on the radio. It was the Beatles’
Let It Be
. Danny’s dad suddenly burst into song, like Danny’s mother in the kitchen.

Danny was surprised by his dad’s jocularity. Mr Thompson joined in and despite the sadly out of tune singing, Danny enjoyed the performance. Not wanting to be left out, he tried to whistle along – Mark Thompson had taught him how to whistle ages ago.

Whistling as badly as his dad was singing, Danny clung to his tin and looked to the road ahead. The truck, and everything in it, bounced in rhythm.

Danny Allen was city bound.