Michael leaned in and gave our mother a hug, said a few words into her ear. She grabbed him by both shoulders and shook him, as if to check if he was real. Michael laughed and said something else that only reached me as a murmur, then turned to Marcelo, who gave him a firm handshake and a fatherly pat on the upper arm.

Michael worked his way around the semicircle. Katherine got a hug with an air kiss. Andy got a handshake while he said, ‘Nice truck,’ and commented that he hoped it had some guts to get back up the hill, in the way that uncomfortable men believe they should talk about cars. My stomach was rolling more with each person Michael greeted, shuffling along the line. Lined up like this, it felt like meeting the Queen. I could feel my heartbeat in my throat. I wrestled with my collar; too many layers. I worried I’d be a foot shorter, having melted through the snow, by the time he got to the end of the line. Sofia gave him a one-armed hug, as if reluctantly paired up at a school dance, with a perfunctory ‘Welcome back, Mike’. That stood out: my brother has had many names in his life – Mickey, Cunners, Ham, The Defendant – but no one calls him Mike. By the time he got to Lucy, she’d gnawed off half her lipstick and she fell into his arms as if she’d broken a heel. She buried her head in his neck, and whispered something. I was the only one close enough to hear his response: ‘Not here.’ She gathered herself, pulling back and taking quick, hitching breaths through her nose in an attempt to portray calm. Sofia put a hand on her back. Then Michael was at the end of the line, in front of me.

‘Ern.’ He stuck out his hand. His fingers were prison-filthy, dirt under the nails. His smile was convincingly warm. I couldn’t tell if he was glad to see me or if he’d just excelled in the prison’s amateur theatre society.

I took his hand and choked out, ‘Welcome home,’ even though I wasn’t sure if he was either.

‘I’m sure Katherine’s got lots planned, but I’m hoping we can find a quiet beer sometime,’ he said. In my head, he was asking about the money, but it didn’t match his tone. I was aware of Sofia watching us, trying to make out our words, and suspected her comforting Lucy was actually a tactic to be one step closer to our conversation. ‘I have some things to say that I think I owe you. I hope you’ll take me up on it.’