Sidney walked to the shed. He stuck his head inside. His brother had taken most of the tin drums of petrol, which were used to fuel up in a pinch, and moved them to the other side of the shed. There were still hundreds of pots of marijuana growing at the other end of the shed. The humidifier in the back was pumping air; Brendan looked sweaty.

Sidney stepped into the shed. Brendan, hefting a drum, first smiled at him then grimaced, swallowed and glared, like his true mood had swallowed the false.

‘What’re you doing?’

‘Just organising.’

‘You want a hand?’

‘No. She’s right.’

Sidney paused.‘You know, Dad didn’t mean it.’

Brendan shook his head. ‘It’s not that. I was an arsehole. Wornkin said she got the car back, right?’ He started his walk back to the drums.

‘Why’re you moving the fuel?’

‘Needed doing.’

Sidney nodded, knew that wasn’t true. Brendan probably just needing to do something physical. How he’d always been. ‘She said the car’ll be here this afternoon.’

‘And all the boxes were still in it?’

‘She said so, but she wouldn’t know different.’

‘Alright then,’ Brendan said, hefting another drum. He waddled back across the shed. His shirt was pasted to his back with sweat, the tendons of his arms stretched.

‘How’s her rash?’

‘I think it’s alright. It’s calming down.’

‘That’s good.’

‘What did you mean you were an arsehole?’

Brendan set the drum down and looked at him. ‘That mongrel deserved all he got. Deserved more. But I’ve never done nothing to cause you or Cass harm. Or Mum and Dad. And that’s what I did.’

Sidney nodded. ‘That you apologising?’

‘I guess it is.’

‘So that’s why you’re in the mood?’

‘Well, that, and Dad stuck my head inside a pig and held me there and tried to kill me.’

Sidney laughed, and Brendan joined him. And in the sound of their laughter was the reassurance that the family would soon return to normal. The thought gave Sidney pause. Their normalcy might not be something he wanted. Brendan claimed to be sorry—but how long would that last? Was normal Brendan something either of them wanted?

He watched his brother a moment longer, his great hulking frame, then walked from the shed. He sat inside at the dining table and listened for his little girl’s crying, but no crying came.

Later that afternoon he heard a car approach. Sharon had been and gone, leaving the Commodore, Cassie driving her back into town. Cassie claimed she was going to visit Peter anyway, but maybe she was still aiming to avoid things. Brendan had checked on the product, satisfied himself it was all there, and their father had clapped him on the back. The two had even shared a smile. They had all been there except for Cassie. Even Sarah had emerged; Amy had been on Sidney’s arm. The family’s malaise had slowly lifted. Brendan had taken Amy and thrown her in the air and caught her in his arms. She had laughed and laughed and gripped a hold of him as he had counted up to three, on the three launching her, her little legs churning, delight and terror on her face. Sidney had watched, his arm around Sarah.