The Minnow by Diana Sweeney

look around for somewhere to hide. To my left there is an entrance to a smaller track. It is quite overgrown and normally I would avoid it, but right now I need to get off the path in case they come this way.
    The track turns away from the voices and seems to curve around in a semi-circle. I keep following it until it finishes behind the old chook pen. I’m not sure what to do next. My knees are aching and my legs are starting to cramp. I can’t hear or see anyone, so I decide that it’s safe to stand up. I stretch my legs and try to get my bearings. I think the chook pen was to the right of the boatshed but, if I remember correctly, it had an old rusty roof. This one looks new.
    â€˜Maybe there’s a second chook pen,’ suggests the Minnow.
    â€˜I don’t think so,’ I answer. ‘Bill has replaced the old roof.’
    I’m trying to decide whether to stay put or sneak back to the pontoon, when I’m interrupted.
    â€˜You’re sure it’s here?’ says a man’s voice.
    â€˜Positive,’ replies a second voice, also male. Neither man sounds like Mr Handsome. There is a crunching sound and suddenly someone appears in the small clearing about ten metres in front of me.
    Sarah and I hardly ever played hide-and-seek. Mum said it was an unfair game because Sarah always ended up in tears when she couldn’t find me. I absolutely loved hiding and it never bothered me if Sarah wouldn’t play, because I had just as much fun hiding on my own. Dad said I could hide in plain sight. I’m not sure how I did it, but I could stand flat against a wall and Mum would walk straight past and not notice I was there.
    It took a few years of practice—and a lot of help from Papa—to hide from Dad. Papa said Dad’s army training was our biggest hurdle. I tried asking Dad about it once, but he just walked away from me.
    The trick, according to Papa, was to stay perfectly still and never look at anyone directly. Eyes are so powerful, he told me, that other people can sense when they’re being observed. ‘But that’s just the beginning,’ said Papa. ‘The only way you’ll ever hide from your father is if you master the art of invisibility.’
    I retraced my steps back along the track to the main path. Even though the men had left, I walked as quietly as possible. I kept expecting to hear Bill’s voice.
    The boatshed door was open. The place was in such a mess, a cat could lose its whiskers (Nana again). Upstairs, the loft was empty, except for the bed and an old rug that used to live on the veranda. It was a sad little room and it didn’t look like it had been slept in since I left. It was hot and stuffy, so I unlatched one of the doors to let in some air.
    â€˜Jesus, you’re a nosey little shit.’
    It was Bill. Even though I was half expecting him, I got such a fright that I banged my head on the beam and a loud yell escaped from my mouth.
    â€˜That would’ve hurt,’ he said.
    I turned to face him. ‘Papa says you’re a sneaky bastard, and he’s right,’ I said, rubbing the sore spot. It felt like it was bleeding.
    â€˜Your Papa’s dead,’ Bill replied with a sneer.
    â€˜And you will be, too, if those men find you.’
    â€˜What do you know about them?’
    â€˜Nothing much,’ I said, wishing I’d kept my mouth shut, ‘except that they were here.’
    â€˜I’m more interested in what you’re doing here,’ he said.
    That was the trouble with Bill. He wasn’t easily distracted.
    â€˜I came to see you,’ I lied.
    â€˜Liar,’ he said, edging closer.
    â€˜Tell him you rowed over to see him, but those men were here, so you hid and waited for them to leave,’ said Papa.
    â€˜You left the tinny at the inlet,’ I said. ‘I thought you might want it.’
    â€˜Even better,’ said Papa.
    â€˜Thought you’d snoop around, you