That night, Dad came home at nine o’clock after footy and the pub with the smell of beer on his breath. Max was in the shed when Dad came out to get a can of Southern Comfort and Coke from the spare fridge: one of those white cans with curly black writing. Max didn’t like it when Dad drank that stuff because sometimes he got mean. Tonight, he was wobbly on his feet and his words were all slippery, like he couldn’t quite sling his tongue around them.

Mum called out for Dad to come and kiss Suzie goodnight, and he grumbled and sloped off, leaving his packet of cigarettes and his can on the workbench. As soon as Dad was gone, Max saw his chance and tried to take some cigarettes for Jaden. But Dad came back while Max had the pack open, and he roared so loud Max jumped in the air. ‘What the fuck are you doing, you little cunt?’

Max was so shocked at Dad using the c-word, he dropped the packet and all the cigarettes fell out—and that sent Dad crazy. He clouted Max over the head and made him pick them up. ‘How long have you been nicking my smokes, you little shit?’

‘This is the first time,’ Max said, and Dad hit him again, a whack on the back that would leave red fingerprints.

‘Bullshit.’

‘Honest, Dad. I don’t smoke. I don’t even like it.’

‘So you’ve tried it then! You little liar.’

‘No, I haven’t, Dad. I promise. Not ever.’

Dad grabbed him by the arm and dragged him inside. ‘Did you hear that, Wendy? This little prick has been stealing my cigarettes.’

Mum’s hands cocked on her hips and a worried frown creased her face. ‘Is that true Max? Have you been smoking?’

He looked down and shook his head miserably. His day was wrecked. ‘I haven’t,’ he said. ‘Honest, I haven’t.’

Dad’s fingers hooked into his cheeks as he made Max look up at Mum. ‘Say it again and look Mum in the eye.’

Max couldn’t, and Mum said, ‘Give me your phone and go to your room.’

Max handed over his phone and ran off to his room.

There was an argument then, a massive yelling match between Dad and Mum, all because of Max.

‘Maybe it was his first time,’ Mum said, trying to defend him.

‘Bullshit, Wendy. You can see he’s guilty.’

‘How about I deal with it in the morning?’

‘No way! That kid deserves a good hiding.’

‘Since when did smacking ever teach him anything?’

‘I don’t care. Whacking his arse will make me feel good.’

‘I don’t want you to belt him, Shane, not when you’ve been drinking.’

‘Why not? You scared I’ll lose control?’

‘Maybe.’

‘Christ, Wendy. I’m not a child-basher. I just want to teach him a lesson.’