‘I can stay here and get lunch ready,’ Mum added.

‘Goodo,’ his aunt said, lifting the receiver. ‘Doris Brandt,’ she said brightly.

Whoever was on the other end was doing all the talking, leaving space only for Aunty Doris to repeat her assent with a series of hums. ‘Alright Daniel,’ she said eventually, ‘we’re busy enough over here anyway,’ she added, before saying goodbye and hanging up. ‘Alan’s fine, he’s stopping at home. They’ve found a body under the Kippen Bridge.’

‘Oh dear,’ Mum said. ‘Anyone we know?’

‘Didn’t say,’ Aunty Doris said. ‘It’ll be one of those sissy types. Daniel will be over there most of the day, but he wants Jamie back over at The Mulgas by tea time.’

James retreated to his bed and pulled the covers up to his neck. The pale lines of water damage on the wall above didn’t look like a safe new world anymore. They were like bars on a cage. From now on, he’d need to keep everyone off the scent.

Seven 2005

SEVEN
2005

The distant distress of a dog woke James. Thinking it was one of his, and that he was back in Sydney, he turned to shout for quiet only to see the chilly, grey smear of a country day showing through the patio door of Tony’s flat.

As he got up, he realised his jacket and shirt had worked their way up his body while he’d slept, leaving most of his torso exposed. He’d left mud on the carpet.

From somewhere within the caravan park, the dog continued to bark. James leaned against the door frame and ran a hand across his belly, stopping where a heavier fold was starting to develop, then scratched at the scar from the hernia operation the year before. His groin responded with that familiar numbness where they’d severed a nerve.

Half the small bathroom was covered by mirror, making it impossible to ignore the bulk of his body. He thought of Dylan and half-awake mumblings in their tiny bathroom, the way Dylan patted his bum on passing, and how that often resulted in sex.

James leaned across the toilet, put one hand flat on the wall to get his half-stiff cock at the right angle to get the piss out, and wondered if flushing would alert the neighbours.

The sense of isolation was immediate as James struck out along the narrow footpath that traversed the Kippen Bridge. It was so high there was nothing above it but air, and the turbulence of a passing truck made him grasp the handrail.

He forced himself to stop at the middle of the span. From here, one ute and the toilet block were dwarfed by the panoramic view of the brownish water receding in a gracious curve, wrapping around Kippen and meandering through stands of poplars and willows and into endless farmlands.