‘I shouldn’t have kept him in the first place,’ he said miserably.

No. But then there was a no pets rule in their highrise apartment, so Sam had had nothing. They’d found the frog while they’d been crossing a busy Sydney street. It had been raining, there had been traffic everywhere, and Lionel had been sitting right in the middle of the road. He was a suicidal frog if ever there was one, and when Sam had pocketed him Molly hadn’t protested. Where he’d been, the frog would have been doomed.

May he not be doomed now, she thought, looking at the intricate arrangement of ponds Sam had rigged up on the bathroom floor.

‘I’ll have to clean all this up when he dies.’ The little boy put his hands in his pockets and tucked his chin into his chest. Molly knew there were tears waiting to get out. They’d wait a while. Molly cried. Sam didn’t.

‘He won’t die. Mr Baird said so.’

‘I guess frogs don’t live very long anyway.’

Darn, it was so unfair. If Molly had her way, frogs would live for ever. But she had to be truthful. ‘I guess they don’t,’ she agreed, and laid a hand tentatively on his arm. But, as always, he pulled away. He was such an isolated child. It was as if losing his parents had made him afraid to trust.

And why should he trust? Molly thought bitterly. She couldn’t even keep a frog safe.

‘We’ve been asked to go to a farm for the weekend,’ she said, trying to divert him. ‘We’ll take Lionel. It can be a convalescent farm.’

‘A farm?’

‘Yes.’

‘I don’t like farms.’

‘Have you ever been to one?’

‘No.’

‘Then-’

‘I don’t like them. I want to stay here.’

Sure. And lie on his bed and stare at the ceiling as he did in every spare minute. ‘Sam, Mr Baird has invited both of us.’

‘He doesn’t want me.’

‘I’m very sure he does.’

‘I don’t want to go.’

‘You’re going,’ Molly said with more determination than she felt. ‘We’re both going and we’ll enjoy it very much.’