The tram that carried the moon.

By the time the tram came, the sky was the colour of blueberry jam.

“Will the moon be out before we get home?” asked Ari.

Grandpa looked up between the wires above the street. “I think it's getting ready.”

They climbed aboard. The tram gave a soft ding and rolled past windows full of warm light. Ari watched a bicycle, a bakery and a little dog in a yellow coat go by.

At the next stop, there it was: a white moon, round as a biscuit, peeking over the rooftops.

“It's riding with us,” Ari said.

Grandpa smiled. “Let's see how far it goes.”

Across the river, the moon lay in the water too. One moon in the sky and one moon below. The tram hummed over the bridge, and both seemed to come along.

At the next corner, the moon slipped behind a tall building.

“We lost it,” Ari whispered.

But when the tram turned, the moon appeared again, as if it had been playing hide-and-seek.

They passed a quiet laneway. The shops were closing; the streetlights were waking up. Ari leaned against Grandpa's sleeve and counted the gentle dings: one, two, three.

At their stop, they stepped onto the pavement. The tram rolled away with a last sleepy bell. High above them, the moon was still there.

“It didn't need the tram after all,” said Ari.

“Maybe not,” Grandpa said. “But I think it liked our company.”

At home, Ari washed up, found pyjamas and climbed into bed. Grandpa pulled the curtain just far enough to leave a silver square on the wall.

“Goodnight, tram,” Ari murmured.

Somewhere in the distance came one small ding.

“Goodnight, moon.”

And the moon, which had travelled all the way across Melbourne with them, kept its quiet place at the window until Ari fell asleep.