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‘Tomorrow? Umm.' Daniel turned to see Helen now hovering in the hall, still on his case. He turned back to the kids. ‘I promised, so yes.'

Helen came in. Said, ‘Glad I don't have to twist your arm.' But she was smiling. She kissed his cheek and Daniel remembered 5.28 and he smiled too.

The store has set up the Wiis and Xboxes and PlayStations and connected them to big flat screens so all the kids and their parents can drool over the graphics on their way to Santa's Cave. Trent is doing a pretty good job of tasting the games. He darts in to grab the throttle of a pathetic kid and takes a few turns, shooting shit. Sharp on the computer front for a ten year old.

Amis had to insist. Sharon had tried to invoke the restraining order, her emotions still confused. They'd get way more confused when she found out Teddy wasn't coming a courting anymore. Amis had burned his file using Teddy's gold cigarette lighter. A momento. He wished he'd taken the Peanuts World's Best Boss toy though. Cheap plastic mass-produced emotion, like Edward Borthwick. RIP. No suspicious circumstances. Sharon would come around.

Amis focuses. Mums are yelling, ‘Hey!' at Trent. A chubby man steps in Trent's way. ‘No. You go and play on another game.'

Trent starts to go, but it's a feint. He rolls around the back of the fat man and takes the toggle from the girl again. She squawks. The man grabs Trent's hand. ‘You mustn't touch.'

‘Don't touch my kid,' says Amis.

Chubby, with glasses and a possum-faced beard, blinking at Amis, a shit-eating grin starting.

‘Get your hands off my kid.'

He lets go of Trent. Trent pushes the girl out of the way and takes
over. The possum man has a striped Rivers shirt, longish shorts, loafers with no socks. Official leisure wear. Mid-level public servant for the Water Board. Brings the oranges to T-ball.

Amis raises his voice. ‘Don't you ever touch my kid.'

Shoppers stop. Mothers shield their litters. A man in a Penguin shirt watches, not hiding it.

Possum says, ‘He was spoiling Nancy's game.'

Amis smiles. Fun maybe. He copies Possum's whiney voice. ‘He was spoiling Nancy's game. You look like a bit of a Nancy to me.' Amis moves forward. Gets in front of his face.

He blinks, looks down, backs away. ‘I ... look, I don't want any trouble.'

Shame, thinks Amis. Says quietly, ‘Run along now.'

Possum looks around. Realises everyone thinks he's a pussy. But he can't meet Amis's eyes. He shuffles, grabs the girl's hand and walks away, internalising another failure to feed his cancer or heart condition.

Amis says, ‘There you go, Trent. Don't say I never do anything for you.' Trent plays.

Amis turns. The Penguin t-shirt is standing next to his kids at the next console, looking. His left arm is in a sling.

‘What you looking at?'

The man looks back. No blinking here. He lets the look linger before turning to watch his boy playing.

The little girl says, ‘What's wrong with that man, Daddy?'

‘Very grumpy, darling.'

Doesn't try to lower his voice. Worker's hands. Fit. The girl's in Osh Kosh. The boy's wearing a Quicksilver brand surf t-shirt. World their oyster. Penguin watching the kid's game, not a care in the world. Amis now forgotten, a glitch, wrong channel, tuned back out.

Amis says, ‘Hey, Trent, let's play
this
game.'

Penguin says, ‘When we finish.' Still not turning. Physically strong maybe. Cashed-up bogan? But no suntan.

Amis says, ‘Looks like you got one of your wings clipped.'

Now he turns. ‘We're just here to find Christmas presents. All right?' Not afraid. But not wanting it.

‘Excuse me. But you see, I'm just here.' Amis brings one hand up in
front of him to illustrate his point. ‘And you're just here, too.' He brings up the other hand. He touches his fingertips together. Then apart and together more forcefully. ‘We're both just here. And there isn't room for both in the one spot. All right?'

Penguin nods. Can see the inevitable. He turns away and takes the girl's arm and pushes her gently to the other side of the boy, who's stopped playing now and is watching the men. He comes back to Amis. He changes his stance, spreading his feet, balancing his legs. When he's set he says, ‘Fuck off.' Smiling. Broken arm and all.

Amis smiles back. He says, ‘Come on Trent, we got things to do.'

Daniel packed Christmas presents into the back of the station wagon.

Frances said, ‘Isn't Father Christmas coming?'

‘Yes, poppet. He's coming.' Daniel flicked a look at Sam, who was smiling doubtfully. Helen had explained that his primary school teacher had blabbed to the class two weeks ago, bless her literal twenty-two-year-old heart, and now Sam was a grown-up and sworn to keep the secret from his sister.

Frances persisted. ‘But why are
we
buying the presents?'

Daniel bought himself time by closing the back of the car and opening Frances' door. Maybe if Daniel had had a more normal father, he'd be ready for this kind of question. He'd have folklore to grab from. ‘Well, Father Christmas ... gives his special presents to good boys and girls. That's right, isn't it?' He put her seatbelt on. Tweaked her chin.

‘I know,' she said, unswayed. She was a stubborn thing.

‘And mums and dads give more. Because we love you.' He looked over to Sam to see how he was doing. Sam nodded.

Daniel closed the passenger door and got in the front, starting the car.

‘How does Father Christmas know we've already got a talking doll?'

Daniel started backing. ‘Well...'

A big blue Land Cruiser lurched into his path and stopped. Daniel hit his own brakes. ‘Give me a break.' He looked at the kids and made a smile. ‘I didn't see him. Going too fast for parking lots.'

Daniel waited for the car to move. It didn't. He couldn't see any
nearby parking spots they might be waiting for. Daniel beeped his horn, two short peeps, nothing pushy. It still didn't go.

Sam said, ‘Mum says you have to be patient when you're shopping.'

Frances looked at him, soaking in his wisdom. She nodded, but said, ‘I don't want two talking dolls.'

Daniel opened his door. The Land Cruiser had tinted windows so he couldn't see the driver. He got out and went to tap on the window, but as he got to the back it suddenly drove off, squealing up the ramp and onto the street.

Helen carried most of the boxes from the spare room as she followed Daniel towards the garage. His briefcase was balanced on the box he carried under his good arm. He'd changed for work as soon as he'd brought the kids home.

Helen explained to Frances, ‘He reads the letter you sent to tell him with the list of what you want. But, I think the elves tell him if you get things. Usually, you don't see and it's all a surprise.' Daniel had made a bit of a hash of the present buying.

Haggis dropped his tennis ball at Daniel's feet, nearly tripping him. He yelled, ‘Get out of it, dog.' Christmas shopping hadn't improved his mood. ‘How come we have to have the wedding shower here?'

‘He wants you to throw the ball,' said Frances, bending to throw it. Haggis grabbed it before she could, wanting Daniel to do the throwing.

‘There isn't enough room at Rosemarie's flat. They're your friends, Daniel.'

‘Inconvenient time for a wedding, so close to Christmas.'

‘Well I guess they thought it would be romantic.'

If he heard her irony, he didn't show it. He nudged the handle of the side garage door expertly with his elbow and backed himself through it, holding it open with his good shoulder. ‘No Haggis. Stay.'

Helen stepped over the dog with her boxes, hearing the automatic garage doors grinding up. Summer light wound up the bench like a fast-forward sunrise.

Daniel had noticed the drop cloth that hid what the kids had been
making. He put the box he'd been carrying next to it, still peering at the thing that didn't belong in his shed. He started to reach for the cloth.

‘No,' she said.

‘Huh?'

‘Santa's little helpers.'

He still didn't get it.

‘A surprise. For you. For Christmas.' It was like talking to her deaf grandfather.

‘Oh.'

He looked at it suspiciously.

She put her boxes on the bench. She'd wait for him to go before stacking everything up on one of the shelves.

He threw his briefcase in through the open window of the ute and fished his keys out of his pocket.

‘The Christmas tree.'

‘Right. On my way home. Biggest one I can find.'

Samuel was crying. Helen looked out to the driveway where Sam was holding his bike.

Daniel said, ‘Don't play in the driveway, Sam!'

‘He's hurt,' said Helen, pushing past and going out to Samuel. His knees were skinned and bleeding.

‘The chain came off.'

‘Poor man. It's okay.' Helen bent to take a look at his knees.

‘Don't cry mate. Laugh it off.' Daniel stood nearby.

Helen bit her lip. Watched Samuel nodding bravely, taking big breaths and trying to make his face smile to please his father.

Daniel patted him on the shoulder bringing a real smile. ‘I gotta go to work, matey, but I'll fix the chain as soon as I get home, okay?'

‘Yes.'

Daniel grabbed the bike one-handed and lifted it off the driveway.

‘We'll put some ointment on in a minute,' said Helen, not hugging him yet. She and Samuel stepped onto the grass as Daniel backed out and down the driveway. She waited for him to look so she could wave but he didn't.

Driving a battered ute. Hearth & Home: Restorations. A tradie. Amis puts the registration number into his Blackberry. Big two-storey McMansion in a cul-de-sac. Upwardly mobile? Rich parents? Lightblue picket fence. The house an invented colour – sage? Amongst the aubergines and terracottas all with little balconies to view each other. Lots of Christmas fruit and power bills. High crime rates, cul-de-sacs. Unsolved burglaries. No passing traffic.

Amis turns the car around at the end of the cul-de-sac so he can follow The Penguin.

Trent is playing on his new Nintendo.

Amis calls one of his contacts in Motor Vehicles. ‘June, it's Amis. I've got a ute. Might be abandoned. I need the name and address of the owner.'

Daniel parked around the back in the yard. Inside the workshop, trays of rosettes and cornices were drying on the concrete floor. Men were pouring into other moulds. Sanders and saws were spinning next door where the carpenters were doing delicate woodwork etching period designs into recycled jarrah.

Daniel reached the metal stairs to go up to the offices when someone called him.

‘Mr Longo.'

Daniel turned. It was Nadif.

‘Mr Longo ... I am so sorry. It was my fault. I forgot the fixing bolt and I was so busy getting it, I forgot I left Hua holding all the weight.'

Daniel saw Hua and another older worker, Yusof, moving up with grins. They'd wound the apprentice up. You could do that in the old days, but this kid was from a war zone.

Daniel said, ‘Don't worry about it.'

‘You not sacking me?'

Daniel saw the men smiling behind the boy. ‘No, we'll give you another chance. But there's a rule.'

‘A rule?'

‘Yeah, no killing the boss.' The men laughed.

Nadif looked stricken, and Daniel patted him on the shoulder. ‘It was an accident, mate. Do what Hua tells you and we'll be good.'

The men laughed and Nadif tried to smile.

Daniel headed up the stairs. He was lucky to have Nadif. Apprentices were hard to keep with all the work up north. Maybe they did kill their bosses in Somalia.

Brian used to joke about the united nations of Hearth & Home. ‘You're sponsoring these boats, aren't you?' They'd started off mostly white, if you count Italians as white, but over the years the newcomers who were brilliant, patient craftsmen were the ones who stayed. They had families and they were thankful for the work, but Daniel knew they shared the pride of appreciated skill.

Chantel was waiting at the top of the stairs, forcing Daniel to look down so he wouldn't look up her short skirt as he came to the top.

‘Oww, Daniel. Does it hurt?'

‘Only when I laugh.'

Chantel said, ‘You poor thing.'

‘I gotta learn to duck.'

Daniel headed to his office. Brian was at his door but watching Chantel wiggling back to reception. ‘You poor thing,' he said, aping Chantel.

‘I am poor. In every way.' Daniel tossed his briefcase on his desk. Looked at the computer-generated sign:
We Love Sheridan
that Brian had sticky taped to the wall. Sheridan was the big job. Daniel's eyes drifted over to the old black and white photograph of his own hotel, in its heyday, blu-tacked underneath. He sat down, realising Brian had followed him in. ‘Oh, and thanks for your concern.'

‘Hey, I meant it. And I don't even want to get into your pants.'

‘My pants are spoken for.'

Brian sat on the couch. ‘Hua told me what happened. That old pub will kill you one day.'

Daniel must have grimaced because Brian spoke again, quickly. ‘Sorry mate. Joke. I wasn't thinking.'

Daniel picked at a pile of envelopes on his desk.

Brian said, ‘Miller's went into receivership yesterday.'

‘What?' Daniel looked at him but he just kept nodding. Brian would
have crunched the numbers. Would want to talk strategy. Shit. ‘Where's our boom, dude?'

Brian made his old joke. ‘If only the Chinese were interested in quality tuck pointing.' They went out to the Sheridan city site to make sure things were ready for the show-and-tell, using one of the refurbished rooms to shave and change into their corporate suits. Sheridan wasn't a Chinese company. It had once been Scottish and was now Japanese and expanding quickly into Australian hospitality.