Adam was fifteen years old when he first arrived at The Corner – fifteen going on sixteen, his birthday only a few weeks away.

‘Welcome to the Otto Bin Empire,’ Madge had said, but he hadn’t got the gag and she hadn’t bothered explaining it. The situation was too dire. Winter had arrived with a vengeance and the kid needed help. Adam had been sleeping out on the streets for several weeks now, but the cold snap had hit him hard.

It had been Benny who’d directed Adam to the inner-city spot fondly referred to as ‘The Corner’, which wasn’t really a corner at all, but just a collection of wheelie bins that sat under the flyover down near the docks, where an eclectic group of homeless regularly gathered.

‘Ask for Madge,’ Benny had said. He’d been cross when the coppers had kicked young Adam out of the laneway next door to Woolies. Well, he’d been as cross as Benny could be anyway; nothing much ever bothered Benny.

Benny sold The Big Issue outside Woolies six days a week, and was a cheerful chap who loved nothing more than a chat. ‘I’m not the full quid,’ he’d happily announce to a customer who stopped for a natter. Or his boast might be, ‘I’m bipolar,’ which wasn’t the case at all, but having heard the term bandied about he’d decided to adopt it. Forty-something Benny, in his scruffy baseball cap and minus several front teeth, was a loveable simpleton, whether by birth or substance abuse was anyone’s guess, but he’d been clean for several years now and was a gentle, kind-hearted soul. It had offended him when the coppers had ordered young Adam to pack up his grungy bedding and move on. ‘Not fair,’ he’d said. ‘Not right, a kid your age.’ So he’d directed Adam to The Corner and told him to ask for Madge. ‘She’ll look after you,’ he said. ‘She’s real mumsy, Madge is,’ and he’d grinned his foolish, gap-toothed grin. ‘She’s been a real good mum to me, anyway.’

The tough, beefy woman in the moth-eaten cardigan, ill-kempt grey hair scraped back in a ratty ponytail and dragging on a roll-your-own hadn’t struck Adam as the mumsy type. But she’d certainly looked after him. Benny had been right about that much. She’d even offered him floor space in her nearby bedsitter; one of the squalid, single-room, share-bathroom ‘apartments’ that were hired out to people on the poverty line.

Among those who gathered at The Corner, Madge was the only one who didn’t strictly qualify as a member of ‘the Otto Bin Empire’, a term she’d coined herself. But despite the fact Madge was not technically homeless, she was one of them nonetheless, and indeed the most important one, for Madge was the matriarch – to the habitués of The Corner, anyway.

‘Chuck your swag down there,’ she’d said, indicating the metre or so of space in her bedsit that wasn’t devoted to clutter. ‘You can sleep here for a while – till the end of the cold snap, at least.’ She rummaged about in a large cardboard box in the corner, coming up with a faded check lumberjack-style jacket, which she tossed to him. ‘There, you’ll need that,’ she said. ‘And that’ – a bright blue woollen beanie followed – ‘and you’ll need some heavy socks too.’ More rummaging. ‘There you go.’ A pair of khaki socks followed. ‘That should do you for now.’ She ran a critical eye over his threadbare jeans. ‘We’ll get you a pair of tracksuit pants at Vinnies tomorrow.’

‘Thanks very much . . . Madge.’ He was hesitant coming out with the first name she’d insisted upon. He found her rather formidable, and she had to be in her sixties at least, maybe even seventy – it was so hard to tell. He’d rather call her Mrs or Miss or Ms somebody, but she hadn’t offered a surname. ‘Just Madge’ll do,’ she’d said. ‘Everyone calls me Madge.’

They’d been assessing each other equally. The kid would find out soon enough, Madge had thought, that no-one at The Corner had a surname. I’ll bet he doesn’t want his own name known – he’s bound to be a runaway. Probably another case of domestic violence; there’s enough of them around here all right.

She decided there and then that she’d try to persuade him to get in touch with Family and Community Services – when she got to know him better, anyway. He was too young to be alone on the streets. Tall enough, adult height but with the scrawny, lanky body of a teenager yet to flesh out. Fair-haired, blue-eyed and baby-faced. Jeez, not even bum-fluff on his chin; he can’t be more than fifteen. Yeah, she thought, FaCS would be the way to go. But a lot of runaways don’t want to make contact with the authorities, do they? Too frightened their parents’ll find out where they are and come after them, poor little bastards.

Madge had determined to bide her time until she’d gained the boy’s trust. She didn’t want to scare him off. He’ll be safer if he sticks around here with us. At least I’ll be able to keep my eye on him.

She was proved right. Adam was quickly adopted at The Corner. As he was taken under Madge’s wing, and already a mate of Benny’s, those who regularly gathered at the collection of brightly coloured, plastic wheelie bins down near the docks accepted the kid as one of their own, a member of the family, so to speak.

Old Syd the dero, as he was referred to among the group – and not without a degree of fond familiarity – had summed it up to perfection. ‘You’re one of us now, Adam,’ old Syd had said. ‘You’re one of the Otto Bin Empire,’ and he cackled with pride…