‘I’m fuming by this time, but trying to be all cool and adult and stuff. The principal calls us into her office, poor little Haymish clinging to my side, and while I tell this woman what’s happened she’s all sympathetic, nodding and frowning. But then she says to Hay, Oh dear, it sounds like your friends got a little bit carried away at playtime today! And I—ah, shit, Aunty Nic, you’re going to side with Mercy on this. I bloody side with Mercy on this.’

He takes a loud breath, taps a beat on the bed.

‘I stood up, calm as anything, and I swept my arm across her desk. Knocked all the paper and pens and shit off. Walked around the side and did it again so the computer crashed to the floor. Poor little Haymish’s nearly hyperventilating in the corner, principal’s dead silent. I go, Oh, sorry, I got a bit carried away with the playing and all. Then I lift Hay up in one arm, open the door with the other and walk out.’

‘Bloody hell, Will.’

‘Yeah. That’s what Merce said. And the rest. And I get it. It caused trouble for her. The school calling her in, asking all these questions about this young thug she’s got living with her kids.’

‘You’re not a—’

‘Anyway, what she said the other day, how it’s been fun but blah blah blah, I reckon she’s been building up to it since the thing at the school. Weighing up if the fun we were having was enough to make something like that forgivable. If she liked me enough to make up for being such a shit influence on her kids.’ He makes a what-can-you-do gesture, shifts in his seat.

‘Will. Listen. Listen to me. That boy? Haymish? He will remember that for the rest of his life. What you did, how you stuck up for him. It’ll matter to him forever.’

He flicks a hand. ‘Maybe. Or maybe I’ve been Rick the Dick in this situation. Maybe Hay and Taylah will remember me as the try-hard, bogan ex-con who thought doing it with their mum made him their dad.’

‘Stop it!’ Her voice is too loud. Will blinks at her, then down at his hands. ‘Don’t talk about yourself like that. I can’t stand it.’

His lips twist, droop. ‘Whatever,’ he says, standing. ‘I better let you get some rest. Sitting here raving on about my problems while you’re—’

‘No, it’s fine. You don’t need to—’

‘Should get going anyway. Stuff to do.’