Yvonne puts a hand on his back and its weight makes him feel even worse. He stands and wipes his eyes on his sleeves. ‘I don’t think I can go there,’ he says, ‘I came all this way but don’t think I can do it. I don’t want to. I really don’t want to.’

‘It’s just a place, Kiama. You don’t have to do anything.’

He rubs his face again and says, ‘I’ve had enough.’

Chapter Twenty-Three

Cheetos

October 2020

Yvonne

She waits for him to knock on her hotel door, laptop in hand, desperate for someone to watch TV with and keep him distracted from his own thoughts. But he doesn’t and by nine o’clock she starts to worry. It’s hard to know if she should leave him alone, if that’s what he needs. She paces the room until finally deciding to check in on him. She grabs a bottle of whisky and listens outside his door, relieved to hear talking inside, a muffled TV perhaps, before knocking.

‘Hey.’ He opens the door wide enough for her to enter.

‘Hi.’

He flops on the bed and pauses whatever is playing from his laptop.

The window is open but the room smells like the dry oil from Avon he sprays onto his skin, the one he said his nana swore kept the mossies away when they went to Barbados.

His eyes are still red but don’t look so swollen anymore, but it’s the most tired she’s seen him since they arrived.

‘Fancy a drink?’ she says.

‘Really?’

‘Yeah. You don’t have to, but I think I need one.’

He nods at the bottle of whisky in her hand. ‘When did you even buy that?’

‘At the airport,’ she sits on the bed opposite him, ‘I’m not a fan of hotel miniatures. Right, I know you’ve got some Cokes stashed in here somewhere?’

‘Coke?’ he asks in shock.

‘Yes, as in cola.’ She laughs at him.

‘Oh. Well, I never know with you.’ He grabs a carrier bag from the floor and hands her two cans of Coke.

She wants to ask him how’s he’s feeling, if it helped to stand there earlier and cry for his mum. But how can she?

‘This is pure weak,’ he says upon tasting the drink.

‘That’s a full measure.’

‘After today you ought to be pouring me a full cup.’ He holds it out and she tips another finger in. They drink in silence.

‘What were you watching when I came in?’

‘I wasn’t watching. It was a podcast about toxic masculinity. I don’t even need to see your face right now to know you’re about to laugh.’