Had to mention Rick the Dick, didn’t she? It’d been the same on the phone yesterday. Will had been seriously considering taking up her offer to buy him a ticket to Brisbane. She’d said all the right things: how she was sorry about Mercy and his job; that she hoped he’d be able to stay in touch with those lovely kids who obviously adored him; that she knew he’d find more work quickly, but maybe this was a good opportunity to head south for a bit and hang out with his old mum. I’ve missed you so much, boyo, she’d said. But then, as if the Dick was standing at her side, poking her ribs, she corrected herself: Rick and I both miss you.

To which Will had said, Yeah, what does he miss about me? because they’d spent all of five minutes together, for fuck’s sake. The Dick had swept in and taken advantage of Mum while she was still grieving then whisked her and Lena off to Brisbane so fast Will was probably still being processed at Silverwater when their flight was landing. Four months later, when Will was released, he’d spent an unbearable couple of weeks trying to reconnect with Mum and Lena while the Dick lurked around insisting on his importance.

I know I can’t replace your father but

I know you’ve been away but we’re a family and I want

I know you’ve had a rough trot but I think it’s time you

Will didn’t care how the sentences ended. It didn’t matter. Dad was dead. Mum seemed happy, Lena seemed okay. There was no point in him sticking around to disrupt the new family that had been formed in his absence.

An absence which was, ironically, caused by his love of family, of his need to do what he could to help Dad. Not cure him, that was never on the table. By the time the stubborn dickhead went to the doctor he was riddled with tumours. No hope, just months of watching the bits of him that weren’t cancer shrivel. But Will knew there was something that would help with the grinding, gruelling nausea at least. Everyone knew it, if they were being honest, but Will was the only one with the guts to make it happen. Get the old man some medicine that actually worked. Let him sit up straight and eat dinner and watch telly. Let him be a human fucking being for a bit before he died.

Had to be paid for, though, didn’t it? And Mum was barely making rent on her cleaner’s wage. Dad’s treatment was meant to be all Medicare but there were always extras. Will asked around, found the right people. Got himself dropped right into the supply chain. Dad’s needs met plus a little cash on top. Perfect solution.