Caitlin shook her head while taking a sip of water. ‘I have to keep my practise up,’ she said, referring to her yoga, ‘but thanks for thinking of me.’

After dinner, Dad and I watched a doco about First Nations people in the US trying to stop mining exploration on their land. Caitlin ran through a series of yoga stretches.

I was feeling pretty chill knowing that Caitlin was stoned and stretching, and that Dad would be in his element watching the doco. Then Dad asked, ‘Do you remember what time your game is next week, Pheebs?’

‘Um, six, I think. Why?’

‘I just want to give your mum as much notice as possible,’ he said, his voice not sounding gruff for once when mentioning her.

‘Oh, right,’ I said, trying not to sound nervous.

‘Sorry I won’t be at your first game,’ Dad added.

‘That’s okay,’ I said, feeling guilty that I hadn’t told Dad about Mum losing her licence. Some things were just better left unsaid.

That guilty feeling stuck with me for the whole weekend and especially when we were heading to watch the Adelaide Lightning game. Of course, the last time I’d been to the basketball was when Mum had taken me and my friends, and committed the hit and run.

Dad and I set off to the game early in the afternoon and on the way we went into a store to stock up on munchies. Dad grabbed licorice and caramel-coated popcorn. He said, ‘Don’t tell Caitlin.’ We continued along the confectionery aisle. ‘Get whatever you like … within reason.’

We were in the stadium before the players came out on the court for warm-ups. Although Dad was happily shovelling popcorn into his mouth and making small talk about the game, I was feeling really anxious. I thought about how angry Dad had been that I hadn’t told him about Mum’s hit and run. I remembered him standing over me, the vein pulsing in his forehead.

‘Phoebe, stop biting your fingernails,’ he said, pushing the bag of popcorn in front of my face.

‘Thanks,’ I said, taking a handful of popcorn. As soon as I started munching away my head went back to thinking about Mum and Dad fighting, how he made me promise to tell him if Mum was messing up.

‘Phoebe, you’re biting your fingernails again.’

I took my fingers out of my mouth and watched one of my favourite players as she hit her third three-pointer in a row during warm-up. But really all I could think about was what Mum was doing. It was a Saturday night, after all, and it was bad enough what she was getting up to when I was with her. I imagined her getting drunk with creepy Simon and I think I started to have an anxiety attack.