Free Dash and Dingo by Catt Ford, Sean Kennedy Page A

49

    England’s influence was obvious in the names of the suburbs they passed through. Ascot Vale, Essendon, Brunswick… Henry wouldn’t have been surprised if they had also come across Westminster and Bath. The suburbs seemed familiar and yet alien at the same time. It was like a parallel universe of his homeland, except it had been baked in an oven and left out in the sun to bleach.
    Dingo and Baz chatted amiably between themselves, catching up on everything Dingo had missed in the six weeks he had been away from home.
    Henry tried to listen in but was distracted by all the new sights that passed in front of him. Dingo’s arm was still hanging casually behind his neck, and Henry unconsciously leaned into it, using it as a headrest. When he became aware of what he was doing, Henry wished that Dingo would stroke the hot skin of his neck.
    One suburb had bled into another, but this one seemed to be different.
    The houses weren’t as uniform; they had more character and the architecture was varied. The people he could see out and about on the streets weren’t so consistently Anglo-Saxon either, Mediterranean hues of skin marched along with Orthodox Jews, and Henry craned his neck to watch them pass with interest.
    “Where are we?” he asked.
    “Carlton,” Dingo replied, grinning at the obvious delight Henry was displaying. “Also known as home sweet home.”
    “Yeah.” Baz snorted. “For slackers who still live with their folks.”
    Dingo whacked the back of his head. “I’m hardly ever at home long enough to justify getting my own place.” He leaned in to Henry. “And this coming from a guy who only moved out last year.”
    “Yeah, because I got married.”
    50 | Catt Ford and Sean Kennedy

    “Oh?” Dingo teased. “Not because you were wanting to be footloose and fancy-free?”
    “You’ll get hitched one day too,” Baz replied laconically.
    Dingo’s face darkened momentarily. “That ain’t gonna happen.”
    Baz laughed. “There’s no woman who can tie him down, Dash. He’s just too much man for a woman to handle.” He yelped when Dingo cuffed him around the ear, and they almost swerved off the road.
    “Watch it, you dick!” Dingo scowled. “Keep your eyes on the road.”
    Baz only laughed like a loon again, amused by himself.
    Henry swallowed heavily, glad they were still alive and not killed by the oncoming traffic. But Baz’s words still stung. “Really?” He risked looking back at Dingo, who still held the remnants of a scowl upon his face.
    “They all love him, though,” Baz continued.
    “Can it,” Dingo growled.
    Henry still didn’t know Dingo well enough to second-guess his moods, but the man looked dangerous at the moment. Baz blithely ignored it, secure in the history of sibling camaraderie and conflict.
    “He hates it when we discuss his personal life.”
    “Look, there’s the Melbourne Cemetery,” Dingo said desperately, to take the spotlight off himself.
    Immediately interested, Henry peered past Baz’s profile to peer at the large city of the dead on his right. He gave a slight whistle. “It’s enormous.”
    “That’s what my wife said, and she should know,” Baz said, amusing himself.
    Double entendres obviously run in the family , Henry thought as he heard Dingo snickering on his left.
    “Biggest cemetery in Melbourne,” Dingo said, turning on the voice of the tour-guide once he had composed himself. “Used to be closer in to the city, but they moved the headstones farther out to start a new one up here.”
    “Moved the headstones ?” Henry asked pointedly.
    “Yep, the bodies are still there,” Dingo said cheerily.
    “Doesn’t anybody care?”
    Baz snorted. “They’re dead, aren’t they? How can they complain?”
    Dash and Dingo: In Search of the Tasmanian Tiger | 51

    Henry was horrified. “But it’s a basic tenet of our society to respect the dead. Leaving the bodies behind but pretending to show respect by moving the headstones is just morally