‘Where you coming from?’ Reg asks.

‘Brisbane.’

He grins at my idiocy. ‘Why’d you go over the bridge? Bridge leads north out of town. You don’t go over the bridge on the Brisbane road.’

‘Overshot the pub and turned around.’

‘How’d you overshoot this place?’ Benny asks. ‘There’s nothing else here. And it’s lit up like the bloody Titanic.’

‘You drove across the bridge and then drove back again?’ Reg asks. ‘That’s daft.’

‘Another round?’ I say, when Mick returns. ‘Last one, I promise. Actually, pour me two.’

‘Suppose I may as well join you. We’re all in trouble now anyway.’

Dad would love it here, would enjoy the company of these men. Maybe I’ll bring him down for a drink. Even though he’s proud of his uni education (first in his family), my father is most at ease around the type of men he grew up with – straight-talking, unpretentious. I’m struggling, can see in their faces they’re regarding me with amusement, as a lightweight from the city who doesn’t even know which way’s north. Then, with a shudder, I picture sitting here with my dad without Reg, Benny and Troy as buffers. What would we talk about? How incredible it is to surf the endless left break at Uluwatu, mind-altering after mushrooms? What he feeds his chickens? We’ve reached the ages where he wants my approval more than I want his, which makes me feel kind of bad for him, and can make him boring company. Abby says he’s worried about me being ‘directionless’, but I reckon when I talk about my life in Bali he’s out of his depth, maybe even jealous. Makes me tired to think about it.

‘There’s still time,’ Troy says.

‘Time to what?’ I realise I’d tuned out.

‘For Troy to get married,’ Benny says.

‘Count yourself lucky,’ Reg says.

‘Don’t listen to him,’ Mick says. ‘Nothing wrong with being married.’

‘Early days for you,’ Reg says. ‘You’ll see. Before you know it you won’t be able to do a thing right.’

Reg, Benny and Troy complain about the weather, which seems to cause them grief, summer and winter. Mick tells me he’s doing a correspondence course in hospitality. These are men who know how to handle their drink. They ask more than they answer. I need to watch myself. One of them might know her. One of them might be her father or her husband. Christ.

Benny leans back to get a better look at me. ‘You don’t know where your dad lives?’

‘Haven’t seen him in a few years.’ I tap my cigarette on the edge of a glass ashtray, beg another beer.

‘What’s that smell?’ Reg asks. ‘Are you smoking marijuana?’

‘Cloves.’ I hold the cigarette out to him. ‘Want to try?’

‘You must be bloody joking.’ He chortles.

‘Is he up near Hanson’s place, maybe?’ asks Benny.

I smile. ‘Man, I know you want a better answer but I honestly have no idea. He bought a farm a while back and this is the first time I’ve been there. Home for Christmas.’