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Tom returned his plate to the servery and gave them a thumbs up in thanks. Wiping his mouth with the handkerchief his mother had drummed into him to always carry, he skipped across the wide road, dodging trams, buses, cars and the horse and carts that made up the cacophony of traffic. Since his arrival, Tom had successfully blocked out the noise, mostly due to his wonder, but now, with a full belly and fatigue beginning to niggle, he suddenly felt the full weight of Adelaide’s city life start to overwhelm him. What had been a novelty earlier in the day – even exciting – suddenly made him feel lonelier than he’d ever felt in the great outback when little more than an owl’s mournful screech pierced the night.

The constant motion and claustrophobic presence of so many people and vehicles, as well as air that felt thick and clogged with fumes, was oppressive as he made his way towards the tram stop across the road. He could almost chew on the dust and grit of the city, which was so different to the earthy taste of the sands in the wilderness. He had been warned by several people to expect a reaction to the commotion; while he could hardly have prepared himself, he also knew not to feel besieged, and began to school his thoughts into a soothing focus.

One foot in front of the other. Find the bus. Pay for your ticket and find a quiet seat at the back. Calm.

Tom leaned towards a couple of young men joshing each other near the queue. ‘Hey, mate? Er, which bus goes down Port Road?’

‘Simple. Just look for the bus that has Port Adelaide on its front.’

Tom felt stupid for asking but nodded his thanks and started scrutinising the buses turning the corner. Finally one had a sign for Port Adelaide. Others looking out for that same bus picked up bags or straightened their coats, shuffling forward a few steps in anticipation as more people than Tom expected alighted the vehicle.

‘It’s the double-deck Garford,’ one woman said, rather obviously but sounding relieved.

Another gave her a gentle shove. ‘Let’s hurry for a seat downstairs. Then you won’t get your vertigo.’

Despite the cold, Tom decided he would climb the curling steps to the upper deck to enjoy the city mostly to himself. Only a couple of hardy smokers sat up here, faces burying into scarves, and he found a seat tucked into the corner. He pushed his bag between his feet, checked his money was still in his breast pocket and let out a quiet sigh, relieved to be heading at last towards accommodation and a bed. The bus lurched, stopped, lurched forward again and finally got going. Tom picked up a strange new waft of metal mixing with perfume and the aroma of burning tobacco, along with the scent of baked pastry and stewed meat that hadn’t left him yet. He imagined he must look like a wide-eyed child at a funfair, bamboozled and awed by all the new sounds and colours and smells.

The conductor ambled up. His uniform was filthy with caked dust. He saw Tom staring. ‘You wouldn’t think I brushed it before each shift, would you?’

Tom shook his head, offering a sixpence. ‘I need to get to Alberton.’

‘So, mate, to get there, I’m going to give you two tickets. One for this part of the journey, which will take you to Albert Park. You’ll get out there and transfer to a tram, probably a bouncing Billy if you’re lucky,’ he said with a wink, as though it may not be quite so lucky to do so. ‘And then you can show your conductor the second one. All right? It’s not far – a few minutes. You shouldn’t be waiting long.’

Tom nodded, inwardly sighing that his journey to a pillow still had two stages.

The conductor continued. ‘On a wintry night in a high wind, I end up looking like this at the end of each shift,’ he said, handing Tom an oblong ticket the colour of furiously blushing skin. ‘That’s tuppence ha’penny and your change.’ He dropped two pennies and a halfpenny into Tom’s palm. ‘Out of towner?’

‘That obvious?’

‘It is. Where are you actually headed?’

Tom gave a soft sigh. ‘Tomorrow I’m planning to get to Black Diamond Corner for work at the port, but I need to find accommodation for tonight.’

The conductor nodded. ‘There’re some guest houses around Albert Park but I agree Alberton’s probably a good bet. Remember, the conductor needs to sight this one, all right?’ He pointed at the second ticket. ‘The Alberton Hotel is probably your best chance.’

‘Righto. Thanks.’

‘Friday nights are always busy like this,’ the man quipped. ‘You’re doing the right thing by escaping. And there’s a big match tomorrow down there. I presume you’re a Magpies’ fan?’

‘Of course,’ Tom replied, knowing it was the right response.

The fellow winked again.

As it turned out, the journey was enjoyable once they’d cleared the stop-start nature of the city and hit open fields. The bus veered to the right and Tom gathered they were finally heading in the direction of the port. He alighted at the nod of the conductor, who also helpfully announced the Albert Park terminus, and was gratified as the man pointed towards a tram about to arrive.

‘That’s your ride to Alberton, mate.’

‘Thanks,’ Tom said and grinned to himself, noting how the tram, as it stopped, did seem to rock at each end. Bouncing Billy – now he understood. Tom showed the tram conductor his second ticket and found a seat at the back, suddenly wishing he hadn’t devoured his pie floater quite so greedily as the tram began its near-drunken-style bounce down towards his destination.

As a wool classer from Farina finished his first taste of a pie floater in North Terrace, Fleur and Henry were standing outside their funeral home, facing Commercial Street, which led down towards the port. Henry was forbidden from going to the pub this evening but his sour mood seemed to be easing as he smoked and relaxed, watching dusk settle across the port region of Adelaide as workers headed home, most via one of the pubs. Trams rumbled by and the distant sound of the dock workers began to fade as they finished up for the day.

A man hurried by, heading towards the bus that was lingering at the bus stop nearby. ‘Mr Appleby, Miss Appleby,’ he said, touching his flat cap.

‘G’day, Thomas,’ Henry said and the man flicked a glance back with a grin.

‘Thomas Williams was always nice to me at school,’ Fleur commented. ‘Others not so, from memory.’

‘That’s because you took a lofty approach to school, Fleur.’