Saturday, 13 June 2009 - 7:51 pm


The boys tried all day to get the signal back on the radio. They took it up to the roof and tried all kinds of ways to extend the aerial. I’m not sure I want to know the details of what they did – I have visions of Dillon standing on Thorpe’s shoulders on the edge of the roof, holding up a thread of wire. Even a couple of the Wolverines got involved after they heard about the signal.

They didn’t have any luck. There was a whisper of something a couple of times, but it was just as unintelligible as yesterday. I told them not to drain any more batteries; none of us know enough about how to make a better aerial. Maybe our travels would bring us to somewhere that would give us clearer access to the signal.


Travels. We’re not travelling anywhere; we’re still here at the car yard. The Wolverines are still refusing to leave, blaming the ice and claiming that we’re comfortable here.

It reminds me of something my mother used to say. She hated the car yard: she said that after Dad got it, that was it for him. He came here every day, he did his work, he went home, and he was happy with that. She was a climber; she wanted more, always had an eye on the next step. When Chastity and I were kids, it was our next steps she was all caught up in. She always wanted us to be doing better than we were. When we started to do our own thing and think about leaving home, she got on Dad’s back more and more.

That’s probably why she left. Her big hope for something big and bright died with my sister, and I don’t think she could face fighting for another one. Those last months weren’t good for any of us, and not just because we missed Chastity. It was a relief when she packed up and drove away. I feel awful saying it like that, but it was. For all of us, I think.

And now here I am, stuck in the car yard, in a much more literal sense than Dad ever was. He never wanted more than this, but I do. The radio is taunting us with shadows in its white noise. There’s more out there and I have to know what it is. I know I’m not alone in feeling this; some of the others are as restless as I am. Dillon has his family to get to. There’s the promise of organised help. There’s so much more and I’m sure it’s better than what we have now.

I never thought I’d agree with my mother, but I do. I want more. I want to go places.

But unlike her, I won’t go on my own.