Dad looks up, his face etched with stress as he pulls at a tangle of stubborn plants. ‘I’m sick of these pumpkins,’ he says. ‘The vines are swallowing up everything.’

‘But they’re not big enough yet.’ Like barbecues and water fights, Nana’s pumpkin patch was a staple of Kiama’s childhood. ‘You’ve got to leave them till Halloween.’

A splattering of damp compost flicks up Dad’s shirt as a vine snaps. ‘Aren’t you a bit old for pumpkin carving?’

Kiama huffs, insulted, ‘No.’

Dad throws a little green pumpkin, but it slips from Kiama’s fingers before he can get any grip on it. ‘Why are you chucking stuff at me? You’ve got muck on my sweatshirt. This is Supreme.’

‘I’m three feet away from you. How’d you miss that?’

‘Because it was wet. It’s cold, I’m going inside.’

Dad laughs, ‘Make yourself useful first. Get the shears and cut away some of these vines for me.’

Kiama stands above the toolbox and looks over the array of tools.

‘The giant scissors,’ Dad calls.

‘Yeah, I knew that.’ Kiama says as he holds them out.

‘Cut some of that frizzy hair off while you’re at it.’

‘I’m definitely going inside now.’

‘Oh man up.’

‘No one says man up anymore.’

It’s clear Dad wants to make another smart comment but settles instead for a roll of his eyes. Kiama kneels next to him and they tidy up the patch of garden in silence, cutting the thick vines away until they can see the bare compost again.

‘How was work today?’ Dad asks.

‘Good.’

‘Good?’

‘Quiet. For a Sunday.’

‘I really need it to pick up soon.’ He chucks a handful of greenery onto the leaf pile.

Kiama puts the shears down. It’s always fun to make digs about Dad aging but this year is the first time Kiama can actually see it, the greying beard, the slowing reflexes, the damn Crocs.

‘I need to start earning again.’

‘Dad, you don’t need to worry about money.’

‘I’m not worrying. I’m thinking ahead.’

‘But we’ve got money,’ Kiama says.

‘No. You’ve got money. There’s a difference. I need to make some plans. I can’t stay in this house forever either.’

Why does he keep bringing this up? They’ve both lived in Nana’s house ever since Kiama was a kid, but it’s become this huge issue since she passed away. No one in the family wants to sell the place, but it no longer feels right that the two of them are living here inhabiting it like it’s their own, without her.

Dad sits back on his heels. ‘Why’d she plant so many pumpkins?’