On our way through the front gate back home, Rube pats me on the shoulder, twice. His previous anger has calmed, probably on account of his own great victory. We brace ourselves for the questions of why we’re so late for dinner. It doesn’t happen, as Mum’s doing an evening shift at the hospital, and Dad’s out walking. The first thing Rube does is hose the blood off his gloves in the backyard.

When he comes into our room, he says, ‘We’ll have dinner and then walk Miffy, right?’

‘Yeah.’

My own gloves go straight back under my bed. They’re spotless. Squeaky clean.

‘Rube?’

‘Yeah?’

‘You’ve gotta tell me how it felt. Y’ gotta tell me how it felt to win.’

Quiet.

All quiet.

Voices of Mum and Dad wander down at us from the kitchen. They’re talking to Steve, because I hear my brother’s voice as well. Sarah sleeps in her own room, I guess.

‘How’d it feel?’ Rube asks himself. ‘I don’t know exactly, but it made me wanna howl.’

9

‘Grab that bag there,’ Steve tells me. Just like he said he would, he’s moving out. All his stuff is cleared from the basement as he prepares to leave home and get a flat with his girl. He will rent for a while, I’d say, and then he’ll probably buy something. He’s been working a long while now. Good job, just started part-time university. Nice suits. Not bad for a few years out of school. He just says it’s time to leave, with Mum and Dad struggling to pay bills, and Dad refusing the dole.

He isn’t dramatic.

He doesn’t look down into his room with a last nostalgic gaze.

He just smiles, gives Mum a hug, shakes Dad’s hand and walks out.

On the porch, Mum cries. Dad holds up his hand in goodbye. Sarah holds the last remnants of a hug in her arms. A son and brother is gone. Rube and I travel with him, to help him unpack what’s left of his stuff. The flat he will live in is only about a kilometre away, but he says he wants to move south.

‘Down near the National Park.’

‘Good idea.’

‘Fresh air and beaches.’

‘Sounds good.’

We drive off and it’s only me who turns around to see the rest of the Wolfe pack on the front porch. They will watch the car till it disappears. Then, one by one, they will go back inside. Behind the flyscreen. Behind the wooden door. Behind the walls. Into the world within the world.

‘Bye Steve,’ we say, when all is unpacked.