Two decades later, his mother’s name had been carved into a headstone in the suburbs after a brief struggle with breast cancer. Just another name left unread for years in a lonely place while lives went on regardless.

The hole containing Tony’s coffin had a mound of freshly-dug soil heaped up to one side, and a pile of flowers in plastic sheaths on the other.

The sob pushed straight out of James’s throat. He thought about paying off the council worker hiding behind the dunny, just to buy time to contact whoever was the right person to prevent this burial, but the snot and tears brought out nothing more than a gagging noise.

Fuck, Tony. I’m sorry.

At the Women’s Club, James realised immediately that too much food had been prepared in anticipation of a better turnout.

A couple of grandma’s friends were serving tea, coffee and trays of sandwiches. James recognised Mrs Beaumont sitting by the kitchen door wiping up dishes, but she didn’t hear him say hello.

He retreated with his tea to the sunlight outside the back door. Yvonne still seemed to be blaming him about her brother’s will, pacing in the smoking area by the back fence, giving him pinched glances; so James sat on the edge of the ramp, just as Bill sidled over and stood behind him.

‘The old place hasn’t started sliding down the hill just yet,’ his uncle said.

James looked up to see what his uncle was talking about, but he was gazing out to the sports oval beyond the fence.

‘You mean Glen Alpine?’ James asked.

‘She’ll need a new verandah and roof, for sure, but the timbers are still good. A house just needs to be lived in for a bit and she’ll start to tell you what needs doing to her.’

The feminine personification of his grandparents’ house made James want to laugh, but he knew it would scare Bill off. It was time they spoke; here was private enough.

‘I reckon we’ve got some spare roofing iron under our place,’ his uncle said. ‘Should still be good for patching. We could get that on and connect up a new water tank. I could order one of those new plastic ones. They last for years, you know? A good wet spring and you’d have enough water to move in. You’ll be alright on tank water. You were on it when you were a boy. Once you’ve got it in your system, you’re set for life.’

James nodded. His uncle stepped closer.

‘There’s plenty of fellas with small holdings making a go of it,’ he said. ‘You could take it on, Jamie. It would be good to see old Dad’s place lived in again by someone in the family.’

James allowed space for more by keeping his eyes down and sipping at his tea.