‘Young Mr Jones is the best man,’ Uncle Bill said. ‘Hope he’s still up to the task?’

‘Ah, Johnny Jones drives like a faggot, if you ask me,’ Dad said. ‘There was no roo. All he did was hit a tree on the road back to town.’

‘Well, anything can happen on a buck’s night,’ Uncle Bill said.

‘And usually does!’ Dad added.

‘Go and put your shoes on,’ his aunt said, startling James as she passed back into the kitchen with their bags. ‘And don’t you go blurting this out to your mother tomorrow.’

The short drive to The Mulgas in their father’s police car was completed in the profound country darkness that encourages sleep for everyone apart from the disturbed and wary, and James was both.

He felt he had good reason: nobody had even mentioned Dad’s new girlfriend, but he hadn’t forgotten that returning to his old home might be even more confronting than a few days with Aunty Doris.

The homestead’s outside light blazed like a beacon, but before they were within its glow James had to open the gate at the top of the hill. Under the oppressive sky, head full of the hollow sounds emerging from his brother in the back seat, he felt tears on his cheeks and wished he’d worn socks.

While his father helped Alan through the side door of the old farmhouse, James knew where to turn on the light switches, and found himself in his original bedroom for the first time in years.

His bed and Alan’s were made, but an unused, musty smell rose as James sat against his pillows and he sneezed. The sound of the bath filling came from along the hallway and he heard his father’s stifled call, which must mean she was here, probably in his parents’ room at the other end.

James went to see. Dad had Alan balanced on the edge of the bath, cradling him.

‘Here, hold him up,’ Dad said, indicating where James should support his brother. ‘Get him out of those clothes. I’m going out to the car to get my first-aid kit.’

Alan was unusually compliant. As his brother shook himself out of his pants, James saw the bruise along the back of his right leg. The skin was not quite broken, but there was a growing welt.

‘You weren’t shooting roos, were you?’ James asked.

Alan turned, naked, hands over his crotch. ‘Jamie, get out now,’ he said. James stood blinking in the light. ‘Get out wouldya!’ his brother repeated, louder.

‘What’s going on in there?’ Dad called from the kitchen.

‘Nothing,’ Alan said, then flicked a harsh punch into his brother’s arm.

‘Ouch!’ James said.

‘If you don’t shut up and get out, I’ll do it again, harder.’

James rubbed the sore place. ‘I know what you were really doing,’ he whispered.