That’s what he told himself. It helped him not to hate her. Somewhere, deep down, his mum loved him.

If he could give himself up to bring back Davey, or even Jesse, that psychopath, he would. If only so, just once, he could have done something right for her.

The rain was cold and heavy, running down the back of his neck. It reminded him of being under water, sea water trickling into his wetsuit. For the briefest moment he thought about walking up to Devils Kitchen and jumping in. Then he faced the other way and limped down onto the beach, stopping to listen to the waves and the slap of raindrops in the gumtrees. He began the slow walk up to Big Mane’s, wishing that the ocean would rise and sweep him away.

Mackerel stared at the bunk above. He was warm from the shower and feeling dizzy from the beer, the pain in his knee finally masked. Big Mane had picked up on his mood the moment Mack walked in the door and knew to leave him alone. He’d stumbled straight into the shower, stopping only to bring a six-pack with him.

Mack wished he had his own place. Somewhere he didn’t have to talk to anyone. It was tricky living with Big Mane, being bailed and curfewed here. He always felt like he owed him something, when the last thing he wanted was to owe the world another debt.

But Big Mane knew that, and respected it.

You’re lucky to have a friend like that. You don’t deserve him.

Even as he was thinking that, Big Mane appeared at the door to his room. He looked pale but excited. Big Mane had looked just like that the day before, when he’d told him Forest had been found.

‘What have you got to tell me now, Mane?’ he asked drunkenly.

‘Bro . . . you’re not gonna believe this . . . Forest Dempsey is here?’

Mackerel sat up, his vision swimming. ‘Huh?’

And suddenly there he was. Forest Dempsey. Hair drenched by the rain, wearing a black hoodie, blue eyes in a gaunt face.

In Mack’s bedroom.

Big Mane pulled the door shut as he left.

‘W-What are you doing here?’ said Mackerel. He was hallucinating. He was too drunk . . . The missed meds were messing with him . . .

Forest sat cross-legged on the floor, pulling his hoodie off, his blonde hair still too long. He looked sad and defeated.

‘Hello, Uncle Mack.’

Forest’s return to the world was a little glowing coal of hope in the depressing shit that surrounded Davey’s death and Blackbeard’s arrival. So why did Mackerel want to cry, just looking at him?

He scrambled under the bed, looking for another beer. His hand seized on one and he cracked it open. He couldn’t cope with all of this right now. He chugged most of it in one go.