Utes brought to mind the toilets by the river. Soon, once the eyes of day were gone, the road near the bridge might be crawling with men. James guessed he could be parked and waiting his turn in the approaching darkness within ten minutes.

He noticed the abattoir, meaning there should be motel lights any second on the left. It would do. No good booking a room at the pub, word would get back to his father.

He was hungry. Hungrier for a feed than for anything he could get down by the river, so he turned into the gravel drive. The neon sign was already flickering intermittently by reception, where a middle-aged woman was chewing gum.

Special Feature: The Americanisation of the Aussie outback.

His room was in a corner of the deserted courtyard. The low sun gave everything a surreal, orange glow. He ordered pizza, plugged in his laptop and logged onto his emails while it was delivered, but there was nothing new, just the usual notice about the editorial meeting on Monday.

He flicked on the telly and lay across the bed. The coverlet stank, so he threw it off and tried to relax, but the smell was coming from his armpits.

As the warmth of the tiny shower enveloped him, Tony came into his mind. James pushed aside the confusing gift of five thousand acres and two homesteads, jammed his back against the shower screen and jerked-off the entire damned day to the memory of his beautiful lost cousin.

Halfway through the episode of Friends on the motel television, James’s phone suddenly vibrated across the bedside table.

‘Hi boyo,’ Dylan said, ‘made it up north okay?’

‘Yeah,’ James replied, his voice thin.

‘You staying with your dad?’

‘Nah, found a motel.’

‘Oh, a motel, how very “Psycho” of you,’ Dylan said, chuckling along in their easy city banter. ‘You eaten?’

‘Pizza,’ James said, looking at the pile of ham pieces he’d had to pick off it.

‘That bad, already?’

‘Yeah, that bad. Just want to sleep now,’ James said, sighing. ‘Funeral’s tomorrow.’

‘Tomorrow?’ Dylan said, then went quiet. James could hear the tapping of computer keys, imagining exactly where his partner was sitting in the little office below the stairs of their cramped terrace house, feet up on the bookshelf. Low light from the overhead lamp would be illuminating the beautiful shape of Dylan’s balding head.

‘I could get a flight in the morning, be there for the wake at least. You want?’

James let out another sigh. ‘How are the puppies?’

‘Took them to the park after work, then home past the butcher. Sausages straight out of the bag for them. I cooked mine. Always get in a bit of meat when the veggo in the family is away,’ Dylan said, and stopped. ‘Just say if you don’t want me there, Darl.’