He positioned the Ford on the wrong side to fill up, so had to reach the hose awkwardly over the roof where the pump just reached the hole. The old car took on more than sixty dollars of fuel. He grabbed a bag of chips, paid, and pointed the car towards the coast.

As the sun set behind him, the highest ranges welcomed him into upland valleys exposed to the waxing moon. It was a lonely journey, accompanied only by the sense of other people in low-set farms and cabins, closed up by the side of the road.

Once all signs of settlement abandoned him to dense pine forests, James flicked the radio on. There was a live broadcast of a symphony from Sydney, or a debate about climate change, so he settled for the company of the voices. They dulled the sense of isolation until the transmission started to falter.

He barely remembered hitching a ride along this route with the truckie all those years ago, but he knew the road eventually descended to the coast. So James took it as a sign of progress when the road began to drop and glimpses of town lights showed through the stands of tall timbers.

The excitement leaped out. ‘Yes!’ he shouted, pumping his fist.

Taking the tight bends in the old car forced James to focus for the next half-hour, but the sense of accomplishment was unbridled. There was absolutely no way he was going to stop somewhere and go through the motions of naming the feelings.

‘Hey, counsellor!’ he yelled at the view. ‘Another reason this trip home is the same as my last trip home. I’m on the run again!’

But not long after the radio signal returned, the vibrations of his mobile in his pocket gave James a reality check. Dylan would be worried by now, but he wouldn’t stop and check his messages just yet.

Dad and Mr Jones might be on his heels tonight, or they might come over in the morning to start picking over Tony’s yacht. James wanted to get there first. Whenever journos spotted evidence before the cops got to the scene, the truth was usually laid bare much faster.

Twenty 1985

TWENTY
1985

Daniel couldn’t work out if the ringing was inside his head or not. As his feet found the floor, he accidentally kicked a row of beer bottles across the verandah. They skittled into the garden and frightened off the cockatoos that were grazing on the seed heads of his overgrown lawn.

Then he remembered. The beers had been the answer to arriving late in the night to the house painfully empty of any of his children. No children meant no wife. He had a terrible feeling that he needed to do something, but first he had to shake the disturbed laughing of birds and answer what he now recognised was the telephone.