He liked taking Rosie for walks on weekends to get away from Mum. He was sick of all the jobs. Pick up your bike. Put the balls away. Dry the dishes. Put out the rubbish. The rubbish was Dad’s job, only he never did it. And why couldn’t Suzie put the balls away? It was easy. And why did he need to pick up his bike anyway? He would use it again tomorrow.

He went out to the shed to get Rosie’s lead.

Dad was still working on his chainsaw and he looked grumpy. ‘Where do you think you’re going?’ he said, cigarette bobbing on his lip.

‘For a walk with Rosie.’

‘No, you’re not. It’s nearly lunchtime.’

Max dropped the lead on the f loor. Rosie would be disappointed; she was watching him with her tail wagging and her mouth in a big happy smile. ‘Later,’ he said to her. ‘Dad says we can’t go now.’

Dad shot him a look, but Max just mooched back to the house.

In the lounge room, the TV was on as usual—Mum never turned it off. She said the sound of voices kept her company when no one else would talk to her. Max couldn’t understand it. She was on her phone doing Facebook all the time. Wasn’t that talking to people? Dad was in the forest all day, so of course he couldn’t talk to her. And Max was usually at school. When he was home she kept giving him jobs, so he didn’t have time to talk either. And Suzie was only little, so all she did was whinge and cry. What did Mum expect? She should talk to Rosie. You could say anything to dogs and they just listened.

He threw himself on the couch but there was only boring stuff on TV. Car racing and other sports. Max was sick of sport. Mum was banging plates and pots in the kitchen, cooking sausages for lunch—Max could smell them. She popped her head in at the door. ‘You ready to eat? Go tell your dad and Suzie.’

Max sighed. Couldn’t she see he’d just sat down? He was tired. All that running round at footy this morning. Up and down the field. Never getting the ball. Always losing. He was over it. Adults said winning wasn’t everything, but Max knew losing was nothing. He could tell by the way Dad turned away from him after the game. Dad didn’t have time for losers.

Lunch was quiet to start with. Dad served himself first because he was man of the house. Then Mum made a sausage sandwich for Suzie, and Max had to wait even though he was starving. When Mum gave him the nod, he grabbed a bit of bread and a sausage and squirted on tomato sauce.

‘Go easy,’ Mum said. ‘You don’t need that much.’