‘No, no, she’s home now. It was like, more than a week ago. She only stayed in hospital two nights, but she’s been signed off work for a bit.’

Something had changed in Wolfie’s voice and I ducked around from behind George’s ear to look at her. Her head was down, and she was mashing what was left of her cake into the plate. The stark white of her parting stood out like a scar against her dark hair and, without warning, another image appeared in front of my eyes, so sharp and clear I almost recoiled. Of a small, laughing girl with messy brown hair and a hand that always wanted to hold mine. A girl who walked so close to my elbow we threw the same shadow.

A girl who was always there, until she wasn’t.

And, pardon my French, but it felt like a punch in the fucking chest.

7

Danny

Dom walked me out to the shed that night, like he always did if he was still up when I came home from a big night. Just to make sure I didn’t impale myself on the edge of the door (still got the scar on my forehead), or end up falling asleep on the back patio on the coldest night of the year (still got that one persistent haemorrhoid).

We passed the abandoned half-dug veggie patch, and I caught sight of an empty coffee mug tipped on its side next to a collection of Dom’s expensive garden tools lying in the dirt. I hadn’t even worked out what they all were before I’d lost interest.

‘Sorry, Dom, I was going to . . .’ I waved my arm in the direction of the mound of dirt, but I didn’t bother finishing my sentence. I was bored of my own excuses and I knew as sure as that round-tip shovel (or maybe not) that Dom had heard it all before.

‘It’s all right. Come on, old boy.’ Dom put a steadying hand on my back, and we walked the few metres across the damp grass to the shed. He leaned around me to give the door a shove, but just as I was about to step inside, he grabbed my shoulder.

‘You know I’ve got you, right, Danny boy?’

‘Yeah, yeah, thanks, mate. I’ve got it from here. Cheers, big ears.’ I attempted a punch at his arm and missed.

‘Yeah. That’s not what I meant.’ I looked into those kind, clear eyes that always felt like home and felt the pressure from his hand increase. ‘I mean Wolfie, and your . . . and Lou. I’ll be here for you, you know? Whatever you need.’

I knew. I’d known what he meant the first time, of course. Because my mate is that rarest of birds. Says what he means and means what he says, and always, always does the right thing, does Dom. Just a few of his many desirable traits that I wish could have miraculously rubbed off on me, because it might have saved me a whole lot of mistakes with life, the universe and everything. Women, particularly.