One Friday evening, in mid-spring, Benjamin invited Mick up to the house for a barbecue.
“You sit,” said Benjamin. “You’ve been working all day. I’ll cook.”
He barbecued sausages, ham steaks and pineapple rings, which accompanied his special potato salad, and a simple garden salad. When they’d finished eating, and the plates and left over food had been cleared away, they sat beneath the twisted, budding grape vines that had woven their way across the wooden pergola looking out across the swimming pool and drinking beer. For a while they talked about the new shed and the firebreak, the chickens and the lawn, but the conversation eventually became more relaxed and personal.
“I’m surprised you don’t have a girlfriend,” said Mick, obviously feeling as comfortable with Benjamin as Benjamin w
