‘Cassie said something on the phone about it this morning. Said there were two blokes you took out to their place. From Melbourne?’

‘Yeah,’ Sharon said. ‘She didn’t say anything else?’

‘No. Should she have?’

Sharon thought about the way she imagined the locals had looked at her as she left the pub. That they’d all known what she was. With a horror she’d never before felt she realised that her son now wore the same expression.

‘I guess not,’ she finally said. ‘What do you think of all that?’

‘Of all what?’

‘Of what the Cahills do?’

‘What do the Cahills do?’

Sharon took another mouthful as she thought about how to put it nicely. ‘With the fellas from Melbourne.’

‘Who were they?’

‘Cassie doesn’t talk to you about it?’

‘No.’

By now her son had stopped eating. Sharon put her own spoon down.

‘Forget it,’ she said.

‘No. What do they do?’

‘Just forget it, sweetheart. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t’ve brought it up.’

Peter looked for a moment like he might continue his questions, but instead picked up his spoon again and turned back to his magazine.

‘They’re not anybody. They’re just friends of Ernie’s.’

‘Yeah, alright, Mum.’

‘Well, they are. They were just getting drunk a bit and I wanted to know what you thought of that, getting drunk . . .’ Bloody hell, her words sounded strained. Not even she would buy what she was trying to sell. ‘You’re eighteen now, you know? I wanted to know what you thought.’

‘You told me to leave it and I’m leaving it, alright?’

He didn’t look up. Refilled his bowl with Coco Pops. Amazing to her how much he could eat. She remembered feeding him Coco Pops when he’d been, what, three? Every spoonful into his mouth just so. She remembered him sneezing once, and small brown globs pasting her shirt, the two of them laughing. The guitar magazine now holding his attention. His clouded eyes. He said nothing more to her. She sat watching her son in muted desperation, ashamed of her lies, every one of them burning holes in her gut.

SIXTEEN

VERNON MOORE

Near midday when he finally woke. He scrunched his hands into a fist and rubbed at his eyes. There was a sickness in the back of his throat.

He swung his legs around to rest on the floor and was met with an almighty pain shooting down both calves. He rocked back and winced and sucked in air through his teeth. His knees felt like they’d collapse beneath the weight of him. These bloody knees. He pulled his toes back as far as he could, stretching out the muscle. Probably hadn’t walked as far since his army days. Never any need for it.

He sat on the bed a bit and then, to his surprise, his wife appeared in the doorway.

‘You’re awake at last.’ She regarded him. ‘Are you in pain?’