After witnessing her son’s first legal beer, the group dispersed a little. Some of the regulars who Sharon knew well eyed her as they passed. Hard to see what it was they wanted to communicate. The old buggers.

Across the room she saw Roger near the happy couple. He put a hand on his son’s shoulder and looked him in the eye a moment and laughed, said something she couldn’t make out. Kept looking around. A flighty dog. Didn’t seem to listen to whatever Peter said and quickly found something else to occupy his attention.

Soon it was time for speeches. Some signal was passed from person to person and all turned slowly, shutting their mouths, waiting for her son to speak. Peter seemed embarrassed. He smirked and looked sideways at her. She tried to nod, not sure he’d seen. Peter looked around, probably for his father. Sharon couldn’t see him either.

Peter inhaled and held his breath, as he used to do as a child when he was steeling himself for something difficult. Leaping over the chasm between the two wooden pillars out the front of his primary school, smacking his shins into the corners if he didn’t give it his all.

He let out his breath and said, ‘Thanks for being here, all of you.’

Raucous cheering, which didn’t take long to die down.

‘You wouldn’t be here unless you meant something to me.’ He stopped. Then, ‘I don’t know, is that it?’

He looked at Cassie for support. She just smiled up at him.

‘Do I need to say more?’ he asked the room.

Sharon shook her head. This was the moment Roger might say something, might step forward and say something about his son, offer something of himself. Might risk a little. Who knew where he was. Sharon looked at her feet, then back up at her son. Maybe she should say something. Peter wouldn’t want it, would probably be further embarrassed, but who gave a damn. Come on. Stand up.

Instead, surging through the crowd, which parted to allow him, strode Ernie Cahill. A purpose in his gait, and certainty as he placed his arm uninvited around Peter’s shoulders. Ernie had a grin on his face and his bald head shone; his eyes lit up. ‘Can’t let this young man talk about himself, can we? Where’s Roger?’

From the back of the room: ‘He’s in the toilet!’

‘That’d be bloody right,’ Ernie shouted, to more laughter. Then he looked at Sharon. ‘You mind if I say a few words, Mum?’

She raised her glass as everyone’s eyes bore holes in her. ‘Go right ahead,’ she managed.

The crowd turned from her as one. Instant relief. Strange how much shame she felt doing something so simple.

‘Now, this fella here, when he started dating my Cassie . . .’ Ernie began. The room clapped and cheered. ‘He seemed a bit shy at first, a bit awkward, you know. He was playing guitar and I said to him, “How you going to pay for my grandchildren playing that bloody thing? No money in that, is there?”’ He scuffed Peter’s hair. ‘You remember that, mate?’ Peter looked abashed and proud at once. ‘And he said, “Never promised you grandchildren. You watch yourself or you won’t get none.”’