“Punk is a subculture that started in the seventies. We reject authoritarianism, corporatism, and consumerist culture. Plus, we like really loud music.”
Hector’s eyes lit up. “I like loud music too. Sometimes, I play it so loud that the lady next door bangs on the wall to complain.”
“That is very punk,” Dylan said, and Libby saw a flash of amusement in his eyes.
Hector beamed with pride. “Will you come to my house and play me your loud music? I always have to listen to Libby’s music, which is so soppy and boring.”
“No, it isn’t,” Libby said.
“Yes, it is. It’s all moany and sad.”
“I’m sure your mum’s music taste isn’t that bad,” Dylan said.
“Libby isn’t my mum!” Hector threw his head back in laughter. “She’s my auntie.”
“Oh, I thought...” Dylan looked between Hector and Libby.
“I’m looking after him today because his preschool’s closed,” Libby explained.
“She’s staying at my house,” Hector said. “Uncle Simon broke up with her and she doesn’t have anywhere else to live.”
“Hector!” Libby gasped.
Dylan looked out of the window, clearly horrified at having that personal information shared with him.
“I want to be a plunk like you,” Hector said, oblivious to the embarrassment he’d caused. “How do I become one?”
“Anyone can be a punk if they want to,” Dylan said. “You don’t even have to have strange hair like me.”
“What job would I have to do?”
“Any job you like.”
“What job do you do?”
“I’m a carer.”
Hector squinted at him. “What’s a carer?”
“I look after people who need a bit of extra help at home.”
“What, like my nanny, Rosalita?”
“A bit like that, yeah,” Dylan said. “I usually help older people, though not always.”
“Do you have to wipe their bums?”
Dylan smiled then, and it was so extraordinary that Libby did a double take. His whole face had transformed, his eyes sparkling and laughter creases round his mouth.
“I don’t usually wipe bums, but I would if someone needed me to,” Dylan said, and Hector groaned.
“That sounds like a rubbish job. Why would you do that when you could be an astronaut or a racing car driver?”
“Because I enjoy it. I like meeting different people and hearing their stories.”
“But old people are really boring.”
“Hector, don’t say that,” Libby said, glancing round to check there were no older passengers nearby who might have heard this.
