An answer. ‘Nah, not today.’

Good, I think. This blanket might be full of fear, but it’s still pretty warm under here. Besides, I reckon we could use a rest.

‘I wanna do a bit of work later though,’ Rube continues. ‘Gotta work on my jab. Can we do some One Punch later in the backyard?’

‘I thought we were finished with that. Like you said to Mum.’

‘Well, we’re not. I’ve changed my mind.’ He rolls over but still talks. ‘You could use some work on your own jab too, y’ know.’ He’s right.

‘Okay.’

‘So stop whingein’.’

‘I don’t mind.’ It’s the truth. ‘It’ll be fun anyway. Like the old days.’

‘Damn right.’

‘Good.’

We return to sleep. For me, it’s back to the flesh, fighting and women. What’s it back to for Rube? I wonder.

Once we’re up and the day progresses, Mum, Dad and Sarah go to Steve’s place, to see how he’s going. It’s our golden opportunity to train. We take it.

As we always do now, we go over and get Miffy.

From our back step, the pooch looks up at us. He licks his lips.

We circle the yard.

Rube hits me, but I hit back. He gets more in than me, but about every second punch Rube gets in, I get one back. He becomes a little frustrated.

When we have a break, he says, ‘I’ve gotta be quicker. Quicker once the jab goes out. Quicker to block.’

‘Yeah, but what happens in your fights,’ I tell him, ‘is that you throw a jab or two and follow it with your left. Your left’s always quicker than the counter punch.’

‘I know, but what if I come up against a real good counter puncher? Then I’m in trouble.’

‘I doubt it.’

‘Do y’?’

From there, we practise more and then swap gloves for a bit of fun. Back to the old days all right. One glove each, circling the backyard, each throwing punches. Smiling at hitting. Smiling at being hit. We don’t go all out, because we both have to fight tomorrow, so there are no bruises and no blood. It’s funny, I think, as we crouch and I watch Rube, who also crouches with that look on his face. Just content. It’s funny — when we fight one-handed in our backyard, that’s when I feel closest to my brother. That’s when it feels strongest that we’re brothers and always will be. I feel it, watching him, and when he gives me a slight Ruben Wolfe grin, Miffy flings himself at him, and Rube mock-fights him, letting Miffy curl around his solitary glove.

‘Bloody Miffy,’ he smirks. There are glimpses.

Later, the tempo changes back to what has become normal.