When I kissed Nana hello, she said, ‘Your mother called; she’s on her way. I’m about to serve dinner. Can you help, Phoebe?’

It wasn’t a question, it was an order. Nana was always cooking things, dropping off meals to Mum. She would even shop for Mum, constantly dropping off groceries. ‘Shame job,’ Dad would say to Mum when I was younger, ‘letting your mother run around after us like that.’ Nana did it even more so now that Mum was by herself. I put it down to Nana being bored and perhaps feeling good about being useful in some way. At least Nana only lived in the same suburb so she didn’t have to go too much out of her way.

As I helped set the table, Nana asked, ‘Have you been out in the sun?’

I looked at my arm to see if I’d browned up. ‘Not really.’ I hadn’t been out in the sun any more than usual. It was kind of hard to tell – I was always some shade of brown. Dad reckoned Nana had never really accepted the fact that Mum had married an Aboriginal man, and I knew she wasn’t too happy that I didn’t look anything like the long line of Smith women in my family with their blonde hair and peaches and cream skin. My green eyes were from them, though. Nana always reminded me of my eyes of green like hers.

I helped Nana place pork belly, roast vegetables and salads on the table as I watched the clock. It was almost six thirty. Mum told me she’d be there at six.

‘Stop worrying,’ Nana said as she saw me watching the time, but I knew that she was worried too. It wouldn’t be the first time that Mum hadn’t turned up for something with Nana. I remembered the birthday dinner that Dad and I spent with Nana, how uncomfortable it was with Dad making her cup of tea after cup of tea and speaking about footie, the one thing Dad and Nana have in common.

Now, Nana set another spot at the table. ‘Who’s that for?’ I asked.

‘Your mum’s friend.’

‘Who?’

Nana shrugged. I hoped it wasn’t Pam. She was worse than Mum with the booze. In fact, I’ve never seen her without a drink in her hand.

Nana and I sat in front of the television for a while, waiting for Mum.

Eventually, she arrived at about a quarter to seven. I was pleased and relieved when I heard her turning the key in the door, but pissed off when I saw that sleazy fella Simon follow her in.

‘Hi Mum,’ she said. ‘Do you remember my old school friend Simon?’