They had been there for some time, just staring at the poster and purposely looking lost and worried.

"Why's that guy got a turbine on his head?", Tim asked.

"That's not a turbine, it's a turban," rebuked Scott, Tim's big brother. "Turbines are big spinny things used in power stations; a turban is a hat worn by people in hot countries."

Tim was in awe of his big brother who always seemed to know everything about stuff. Scott was two years older and in fifth year at school. He knew lots of stuff. Tim reckoned that he didn't have to know stuff, because Scott would always be there to explain the world to him when he needed to know things.

"Why do they wear a turban and not a felt hat with corks around it like people do in hot parts of Stralia?" Tim didn't understand why people put an A in front of Stralia, there was only one Stralia, so if anything, people should say "The Stralia".

"Because, you numbskull ..." Scott hesitated whilst thinking up an answer. He then started slowly while he got into the rhythm of his theme. "People in other hot countries don't have as many flies, because they don't have as many cows, so they don't have to have corks bobbing around their faces, so they don't have to have a wide brim around their hats, so they don't have to wear felt hats, so they can just wear an old towel or tee shirt or something wrapped around their heads. It's more practical."

Scott drew breath well pleased with himself to have strung that many words together all at once. He even thought that the long-convoluted answer might even shut Tim up for a while.

"I've never seen a felt," said Tim reflectively. "Have I ever seen a felt?"

Just as Scott was about to launch into another explanation about felt being made from the fur of an animal called an Akubra, a large burly man with a red jowly face swung the door open and bellowed

"What are you little blighters doing hanging around here? Bugger off out of it. This isn't a kid's playground".

Scott nudged Tim, and on cue, he burst into tears and started screaming for his Mum. Tim was getting good at it, real tears, swollen cheeks, wobbling knees. He could scream for Stralia.

The man's face went from scary, to scared in a heartbeat. Every child knows that blokes don't know how to deal with screaming kids.

"Please sir" stuttered Scott, "we are waiting for Mum, she said she would only be ten minutes and to wait here until she ducks into the chemist, but we have been waiting for ages, and we don't know where she is."

Tim's performance was building up to its crescendo. Right on time, as expected, the man knelt to Tim's level and started speaking quietly and calmly to him. "OK, OK little fella, I didn't mean to scare you, come inside and I'll get you some hot chips and a drink and you can wait inside for your Mum to come back. Do you like chips and sauce; and how about a red drink. A fire engine?" Tim reduced his performance to a quiet sobbing and sniffle as the two boys followed the man into the pub and sat at a table near the door so they could eat and watch the street for Mum's return.

"Well that worked good" Tim said quietly to Scott whilst trying to hide a toothless grin as the man went to the counter to get the person in the kitchen to look after the boys. "It has for the past week, so I expect it will until someone cottons on to what we are doing. Just keep ready to duck and run when we have to".

Scott watched the grown-ups around them until after they had eaten and finished their drinks, and when no one was watching, gave Tim the signal to slip out the back, through the car park and into the next street where they couldn't be seen from the pub.

"Do we have to do that again?" asked Tim, "Why do I have to do all the crying and screaming".

"Because your good at it, and I'm good at the acting stuff " replied Scott. Tim was happy with this confirmation they were team and he had a part to play. They made their way through the back streets to the old blacksmith's sheds near the racecourse. After a quick look around to make certain that no one was watching, they slipped into the backyard and into the old shed through a loose bit of iron. Inside was small but warm and comfortable with clean straw from broken hay bales. The boys had hidden water bottles and a bin liner bag with their clothes in behind some old drums in one corner. On one wall Scott had placed the handwritten note from their Mum. They both looked at the crumpled note pinned crookedly.

"When can we go and see Mum Scott? I miss her and I don't want to live here anymore; I want Mum" he sobbed as real tears began welling in Tim's eyes.

"Mum is very tired, and just needs to rest for a while longer. She just needs a long sleep".

Scott knew this couldn't last, but he also knew that it was his job to look after his little brother now.

Mum had told him that.