Against the hope that it isn’t true.

‘No way,’ and I realise that it’s me who has spoken, because the morning-cold smoke has tumbled from my mouth with the words. ‘We can’t let him.’ Not because we’re ashamed of him. We’re not. We just know that he’s fought this for so long, and we know he sees it as the end of his dignity.

‘Come on.’

Now it’s Rube who has spoken, and he tugs on my sleeve. He calls to Mum and Sarah that we’ll be back soon, and we take off.

‘Where we goin’?’ I pant, but I know the answer, right up until we get to Steve’s place. Out of breath from the sprint, we stand there, gather ourselves, then call out.

‘Hey Steve! Steven Wolfe!’

People yell out for us to shut up, but soon enough, Steve appears on his apartment balcony in his underwear. His face says You bastards. His voice says, ‘I thought it was you blokes.’ Then a shrill, unhappy shout: ‘What are y’s doin’ here? It’s seven o’clock in the bloody morning!’

A neighbour shrieks, ‘What the hell’s goin’ on out there?’

‘Well?’ Steve demands.

‘It’s,’ Rube stutters. ‘It’s Dad.’

‘What about him?’

‘He’s …’ Damn, my voice is still panting. ‘He’s down there.’ I’m shaking. ‘Getting the dole.’

Steve’s face shows relief. ‘Well it’s about time.’

Yet, when Rube and I stare into him, he can tell. We’re pleading with him. We’re crying out. We’re howling for help. We’re screaming out that we need all of us. We need — ‘Ah, bloody hell!’ Steve spits out the words. A minute later, he’s with us, running in his old football training gear and his good athletic shoes.

‘Can’t y’s run any faster?’ he complains on the way, just to repay us for pulling him out of bed and humiliating him in front of his neighbours. He also says through clenched teeth, ‘I’ll get you blokes for this, I promise y’s.’ Rube and I just keep running, and when we get back to our place, Mum and Sarah are dressed. They’re ready. We all are. We walk.

After fifteen minutes, the employment service is in sight. At the doors, there sits a man, and the man is our father. He doesn’t see us, but each one of us walks towards him. Together. Alone.

Mrs Wolfe has pride on her face.

Sarah has tears in her eyes.

Steve has our father in his eyes, and finally, the realisation that he would be equally as stubborn.

Rube has intensity clawed across him.

As for me, I look at my father, sitting there, alone, and I imagine his sense of failure. His black suit is a bit short at the ankles, exposing his football socks beneath the pants.