‘I’ll go and get Dad.’

Brendan laughed at this. ‘Yeah? Go on then. Go and whinge to bloody Dad, see if that changes it.’

Sidney folded his arms. Brendan was right. Whingeing wouldn’t help. So he watched his tiny daughter waving her legs back and forth, beginning to cry. There was an anger deep within him. This mongrel—his brother—harming Amy to prove a point. It took all he had to keep from attacking. No use, anyway. He’d be pulling at his broth-er’s arms and his brother would be laughing, holding her up there longer.

‘You gonna do the rest yourself then? And have it out there tomorrow in the car by yourself like you need to?’

Her crying was getting louder.

‘Fine. Yes. Give her back.’

Brendan swung the baby back into her father’s arms. Sidney cradled her to his chest. ‘You arsehole,’ he said.

‘Grow a set, would you? Come out after you give her to Sarah. I need a break.’

‘I’m putting her down.’

‘Just give her to her mum.’

‘It won’t take a half hour and I’ll do the bloody rest, alright?’

Sidney walked inside the house. His mother was already washing up, her feet squared before the sink, a dripping stack in the rack beside her, tea towel draped over her shoulder. She didn’t turn to greet him or his daughter. ‘You eaten?’ she asked.

‘We ate before we left.’

He took Amy into their bedroom and was immediately engulfed in the musty smell of weed smoke. He coughed, and so did Amy, the little hack painful to his ears. His wife languid over the bed, head tilted back and upside down, her hair a dripping octopus over the carpet. She grinned as she saw the two of them and drew again on her joint and the embers glowed and shadowed. Her eyes opened wider. ‘Where you two been, eh?’

‘What the hell are you doing, Sarah, smoking here? You can’t let her cough all this garbage into her lungs.’

‘Oh, calm down, Sid,’ she said, and rolled onto her front. She kicked her legs up and put her head in her hands and then dipped her head down and squeezed the back of her neck. ‘You sound like my mum sometimes.’

‘Don’t smoke this stuff in here. It’s bad for her.’

‘Give her here.’

‘Don’t smoke in here, alright? Look. She’s coughing.’

‘Bit of weed won’t hurt her. They give it to some babies as medicine.’ She grinned again. ‘Used to be you’d give babies a bit of bourbon to put ’em to sleep. Sent me right off, Mum said. Weed’ll probably help her settle. Give her to me,’ and she held out her arms, waiting.

Reluctantly, he handed Amy over, who seemed unaffected by all this, apart from the coughing.

‘At least put the bloody joint out.’

‘Alright, alright, Mum.’ Sarah licked her fingers and pinched the tip. The smoke still in the room hazing the ceiling, the lights. He hated the smell, had always hated it. Brought him closer to his childhood and all the hell of it. Odorous memories easier to step inside.