I close my eyes. I can’t figure how Skye put up with his old-school thinking. A woman who had a kid without being married, lived on a commune, then wound up with my dad. Weird. Though maybe it was his old ways that appealed to her. I could see how, given what I’d heard, she might crave stability, predictability, a man who used the words ‘chivalry’ and ‘gentleman’ without irony. Dad is rigid in his thinking about women’s roles, but he treated my mother like royalty. He opened doors, pulled out chairs, poured her drinks, made sure her petrol tank was always full, bought her flowers. I don’t recall seeing him do one thing that could be called domestic, but I think my mother felt loved. And safe.

‘So you’re clear on the plan?’

‘Dad, if you tell me again I’ll throw myself out of the car.’

‘It’s important you understand.’

‘Okay, for the last time: we head towards Eumundi, into the hills, take one road to another road, find a sign that says Arcadia, laugh at it, and walk for about a half-hour – not making noise. Once the trees start to thin out, we look down the hill and see communeland. At which point we become invisible and steal a kid who won’t make a single noise because we will have rendered him unconscious. We’ll take turns carrying him and, magically, no one will see us. Tell me a word that rhymes with failure and I’ll make a poem out of it.’

He frowns at me. ‘Don’t you know that calling this a failure before we’ve even left the city is a cop-out? You’re giving in before we’ve begun. It’s the same old –’

‘Same old what, Dad?’

‘We have a plan. I know what to say to the boy. And this will work.’

‘Same what? Same way I live my life? I’m helping you carry this out and you want to judge me?’

We ride in silence for a while until he says, ‘Your friend sorted, the one in Bali?’

‘Not quite. It’s complicated.’

‘Well, I’m sure she can survive without you for a while. How much longer do you plan to live in that place anyway?’

‘Forever.’

He’s pursing his lips to resist saying the things I know he wants to. I watch him calm himself. ‘You have friends in Brisbane. We have beaches here, the best in the world. You wouldn’t need to work as a waiter if you moved back.’

‘When I wake up in Kuta I feel happy. The morning smells like incense and watered plants and heat, and people smile when I walk down the track to KD. It’s awesome.’

‘Did you lose your manhood over there?’

‘Say what you want, Dad. Doesn’t change a thing.’

‘We’re not lacking sunshine here. Friendly people aren’t unheard of either.’

‘I like having rice for breakfast and surfing in the morning. I like hearing Made’s sister practise the gamelan in the afternoon. It’s –’

‘Escapism,’ he says.