He jogged back to the drive, flicking off ants and prickles, and noticed the gate at the end of the home yard was open. As kids, they’d always been warned to shut it to prevent the rabbits ruining the lawn, but now it stood open in a strange form of welcome.

James passed through, noticing a ute pulled up beneath the pepper tree, probably because the garage was overflowing with machinery and junk. The plastic tank overshadowed the kitchen window, high on the old timber stand. Newish pipes looked as though they’d been stabbed through the wall, leaving splintered wood around the edges of rough-sawn holes.

The door on that side of the homestead was locked. James called out an awkward greeting, but the whiny breeze didn’t allow him to hear anything inside. He tried the front door and it opened with a gentle crunch of the handle.

As soon as he was inside he heard the low, drawn-out snoring coming from the bedroom his parents once shared. A quick look along the hallway showed his father stretched on his back across the double bed, still dressed. His sleeping habits must still be fucked up from years of night duty.

All but one of the other doors off the lengthy hall were shut. The room he and Alan shared was sealed away, just like little Gregory’s. A slice of light from the kitchen cut the passage in half, exposing the empty beer cartons piled in the shadows.

James backed out quietly, drew the door back onto its fastenings, and retreated.

If Dad couldn’t be bothered getting up to take the lock off his own damned gate so his second son could drive home, James had a ready excuse for staying elsewhere; but word would quickly get around if he didn’t pay respects to his uncle and aunt.

As he approached Deloraine in the hire car, its row of pines loomed large. White linen flapped between slashes of dark green fir.

You could never see these country homes on approach, James thought, not the real old working homesteads. They were subsumed by spreading foliage long ago, shrouding them with a verdant secrecy through which, even now, he knew his aunt would be peering.

As he came to a stop, two young kelpies sniffed the air to catch information about this new car. The quietness from the house was unsettling. James pulled the key out and opened the door.

Suddenly, the dogs spooked and put their ears flat against their heads. One sat and the other lay down, eyes focussed on the door to the homestead and nothing else. Their gaze was so fixed that James felt compelled to look too.

Uncle Bill was approaching, hand out ready to shake, wearing a wide grin as extreme as a mask. ‘Welcome home... well, welcome back at least,’ he said.