Brendan scoffed. ‘No. It’s not like that. She’s a friend. Thought it was the right thing to do.’

Their father stared at Brendan for a moment. ‘I want to be very careful with what I say to you now, Brendan, alright? So shut up and listen to me. Because I want you to learn from this and I don’t want to use my fists to teach you this time. Do you understand?’

Brendan nodded quickly and did not look up. His father waited a moment.

‘There are a number of steps you’ve taken here that weren’t the right steps. Do you know what they were?’

Brendan picked at the carpet. Still without looking up he said, ‘But Dad––’

‘Brendan, I’m about to smack you,’ his father said.

Their father was a big man––stocky, broad-chested, his bald head making him look like a bull––but it wasn’t his size that gave him weight. Standing, he wasn’t as tall or as big as his firstborn. He didn’t shout or yell. Never had. But his softly spoken words were sharp. Little daggers. Each one driving home venom, anger, ferocity.

Brendan said, ‘I should’ve talked to you about it.’

‘Bloody oath. That’s the lesson we need to learn here. I mightn’t’ve minded you going in there beating on him. Sounds like he deserves it.’ He paused. ‘If you’d talked to me about it I could’ve told you something like this would happen. You pushed it too far, mate. I’m assuming you had to bribe the governor at Boodyarn prison? So you’ve extended us over there. Then you’ve woken up this old man to come and defend his son. And I can’t blame him for that. But if you’d talked to me, told me your bloody plans, I would’ve seen this coming. You do this again, you act without speaking to me first, and I will shove a knife into your neck.’

Brendan had remained staring down at the carpet but had stopped fiddling with it. Sidney almost felt sorry for him. He seemed like a little kid beneath his father’s words.

‘Look at your brother there, on the couch,’ his father added. ‘Look at his arm. That’s on you. You did that. You remember that the next time you come up with a plan on your own and don’t talk to me about it first.’

He sat back in his chair. The room was silent, no family member meeting the eyes of the others.

‘What did he say his name was?’ his father said.

Brendan said, ‘His son’s name is Caleb Moore.’

‘You know his dad?’

‘No.’

His father looked at Sidney. ‘How you going, mate?’

Sidney nodded. ‘I’m alright.’

‘No more bleeding?’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘The doctor’ll fix you up. How’s the arm?’

‘We shouldn’t keep doing this, Dad.’

‘What’s that?’

‘The pot.’

Nobody spoke for a moment.

‘Just because something’s gone wrong this one time––’ his father started.

‘It’s not that. We just shouldn’t. Of course something’s gone wrong. It was bound to.’