“Four thirty on the dot,” Clay said.

“I can get Benji from the school gate every single afternoon.”

I turned the pancake with a metal spatula and watched the warm steam rise off its golden crust.

“That leaves lots of time for homework and washing up before supper,” I said.

Clay took his coffee mug and leaned back against the counter.

“No more oil rig rotations,” Clay said.

“No more three-week stretches up in North Dakota.”