Will shivered with pleasure at Dad’s face. Almost said, Ha ha, gotcha. Muzza was one of Dad’s good mates. He had lots of mates, but only half-a-dozen good mates, the ones who came around most weekends and who Dad went to the pub and the footy with on the regular. Muzza was maybe even a best mate, though Will had never heard him called that. But he was around more than most of the others, and on Anzac Day Dad took him to the march and then let him spend the day drinking until he cried and then passed out in the backyard and that seemed like a best mate kind of thing to do.

Dad stared at Will so long that the pleasurable shiver was replaced with fear. He could still hear Lena’s sobbing down the hall. Maybe he should start yelling, get Mum running back out here. But no, Dad closed his eyes a sec, said, Yeah, well, that wasn’t right him saying that. Not right at all. But he’s not my son. It’s not my job to teach him how to behave.

Will nodded, knew he wasn’t really in trouble anymore. Dad turned the TV back on and they watched it a bit longer before Dad said, It’s okay to be annoyed with your sister. With anyone. But you’ve gotta try to say things straight and calm. Kind, too, if you can. Men like Muzza, they never learnt how to talk right to people.

You said you’d knock my teeth out. That’s not calm or kind.

A laugh, kind of. Can’t get away with anything, can I?

Later, Lena came and snuggled on the lounge between Dad and Will, and Dad kissed her forehead and told her the score. Will felt crappy about what he’d said then. She was just a little kid with a lot of feelings. And if Dad could stay calm and kind about that then so could he.

‘You’re right,’ he said now, pushing the window back down, giving up the tiny ground he’d gained. ‘We’ll keep it shut.’

‘Do what you want. I don’t care.’ And she was gone again.