We’d arrived at Sarah’s great-aunt’s farmhouse worn out from the drive, only to discover another family would also be staying there over Christmas. Sarah had lost it, phoned her mum, sworn at her. Carly had assured her, assured her – hadn’t she? – that we’d have the whole place to ourselves. When I suggested driving back to Melbourne, the kids buckled at the knees.

Banging. Sarah huffing, her eyes closed. Braying. Banging. Scraping.

Zac had come straight to our house in Brunswick on the twentieth, after his release, straggly and tanned from labouring on the prison farm. He’d written lots in the notebook I’d given him, loved the book Sarah had given him. Sarah and I had rehearsed our double whammy of good news, decided she would deliver part one, me part two. Would he housesit for us while we were in Numurkah? Yes, he would. Would he consider going thirds with us on a new rental place if we found something suitable – more room for us, more family contact for him? Yes, he would. Did it matter that he was an unemployed convict? Yes, it … didn’t matter at all.

‘What time’s it, hun?’ Sarah said.

I looked at my watch again. ‘You don’t want to know.’

The other couple in the house, Margot and Ed, were friends of Sarah’s great-aunt. They’d rumbled up the drive as we were ferrying the last of our bags from the car, filled the kitchen benches with their groceries, bike helmets, water bottles. ‘Yeah, that’s our house way over there,’ Margot had said, pointing through the kitchen window. ‘We’re still putting the roof on – we thought it would be finished by now.’

Sarah had looked, made approving noises. I hadn’t bothered. I’d said hello to Ed, nodded at their boys – Axel the baby, Harley the toddler – before going to the room Sarah and I were sharing and closing the door.

More banging, a yelp. Harley crying.

‘Fucking hell, he’s going to wake the kids,’ Sarah said, turning to face me.

‘He’s only three.’

‘That’s not the point.’

‘Christmas,’ Harley shouted. ‘Christmas.’

‘Get lost,’ Oliver shouted from the box room.

Sophie shouted, ‘Leave us alone, loser.’

Within seconds, Harley would be up on their bed, ripping open the presents we’d smuggled from Melbourne. Adult footsteps in the hallway – Ed was finally, thanks, Ed, taking action. ‘Hey, what’s all this?’ he said. ‘It’s meant to be the season of comfort and joy.’

‘He started it,’ Oliver said.

‘It’s too early for me,’ Sarah said, thumping her pillow, letting her head fall.

‘You stay there,’ I said. ‘I’ll get up.’

* * *