Tilly continues to stare at me as if I’m going to disappear in a puff of smoke.

“Trish,” she says. “You’re the best auntie ever.”

It’s a nice thing to hear.

“Come on.” Tilly pulls me through the gate.

*

After two hours, we’re all in need of a rest, even though we’re only halfway through. I haven’t wanted to say anything, but Tilly’s limp has become more pronounced as the morning has gone on. She’s no longer talking quite as fast and her face is less animated. When we reach the kiosk, I insist on buying us all hot chips and an ice cream, and we find a picnic table in the shade.

Will has been filling me about my family during snatches of conversation. Unlike me, he’s kept in touch with his brother – our brother, I remind myself. Apparently, James has two young boys and runs a small trucking company. In Will’s words, James is still a complete prick, yet Dad continues to believe the sun shines out of his arse.

“Dad took great delight in saying I’d be a failure,” I mutter.

“Hey, you don’t get dibs on that one, Trish. At least once a week Dad told me I was a total no-hoper and wouldn’t amount to anything.”

“I wonder what he’d think if he saw us now… Actually, I don’t care.”

Will hooks his arm in mine. “Neither do I.”

After we’ve eaten, Tilly goes to play on the giant colourful dragon with secret tunnels within its body and I ask Will the one question that I’ve been trying not to.

“How’s Mum?”

I wave at Tilly as she sits on one of the giant scales on the dragon’s tail. Will takes a while to reply.

“She’s the same, I guess.”

We focus on Tilly, neither of us wanting to speak.

“She missed you,” Will says eventually. “After you left.”

“Yeah, sure,” I scoff. “Bet she didn’t even notice I was gone.”

“She did. Every time I went home to visit, she’d ask after you. She was the one who told me where you lived.”

It takes me a moment to digest. “How does she know?”

“Dunno.” Will turns to me, his eyes blazing. “I blame Dad for how she is, Trish. Belittling her in front of us, always telling her how pathetic she is. What sort of husband does that? Why didn’t he try to help her?”

My chest is tight and painful. “She was pathetic,” I mutter. “She let him yell and carry on, and she never did anything to protect us, Will. Isn’t that what a parent is supposed to do? Protect their child? I mean, look at Tilly – you’d do anything for her and you’d never let someone treat her the way Dad treated us.”

“Mum was sick, Trish. She still is.”