‘Take him please. He’s being a monster.’

He sits next to me, arms crossed, humphing.

‘Are you really a monster?’ I ask. ‘Did you eat one of the other kids?’

He fights a smile.

‘Did you breathe fire? That’d show him.’

‘Yeah.’

‘Is it about that truck? You feel like it should be yours?’ Petey looks at me wide-eyed. ‘I know things, buddy. I have powers.’ He laughs at me. Not even a little kid believes that. He slides off the bench and runs to the climbing frame.

I watch him play, spread my arms wide across the top of the bench to let some air into my sweaty pits. I think I should tell Ryan and Sal about the accident. Because they’re my friends, and it was an accident. They’ll have some ideas about what to do next, especially how to handle the cops. And I want to start out both my new years with some kind of plan about how to move past this.

When we’re back at the house, Abby puts the twins down for a nap. Sarah sits cross-legged on the living-room floor to watch TV.

‘I’m catching up with Ryan and Sal today,’ I tell Abby. She’s changed into old shorts and a ratty t-shirt in preparation for washing something in this forever-spotless house. ‘They’re going to swing by in about an hour.’

She’s pulling her hair into a ponytail but stops mid-job. ‘You should’ve told me before. I need to –’

‘Need to what?’ I watch her. She’s been awkward around Ryan and Sal since uni. A crush on Ryan – that’d been obvious, as had his disinterest in her. But her attitude to Sal? Some soup of jealousy about Sal’s looks and ease, and a need for her approval. Which almost nobody gets, especially not women. Sal doesn’t have many female friends, in Brisbane or Bali, but there are a hundred men who’d stand in front of a moving train for her. There’s no way Sal will ever see my sister as her equal. And the fact Abby kept up the cloying routine with both of them after Sal and Ryan were a couple and she became a mother is . . . it lacks a little dignity. I’d told Ryan to beep his horn, not to come up.

‘Abby, they’re dropping by to give me a lift to the pub. It’s no big deal.’

She ignores me, and heads down the hallway.

I remember I haven’t had lunch. I open the fridge door and peruse my options. A head of lettuce, a carton of eggs, some jam, half a grapefruit, a jar of pickles, leftover sausages and chicken, and a box of Mateus. Slim pickings. Abby comes into the kitchen wearing a lime-green halter-neck dress and yellow shoes.

‘Are you going out, too?’

‘No,’ she snaps. ‘Why? Do you want me to be gone when they get here?’

I’m about to tell her they’re not coming inside when I hear the car horn. It sounds like some old-guy jazz instrument; Ryan will be driving his dad’s Mercedes. I glance at my watch: they’re early. Ryan’s parents must really be shitting Sal. Late is her usual M.O.