Leon’s mum had a knack for choosing the wrong time to phone him. Occasionally it was about something important, such as reporting Stan’s visits. Leon had tried to take action on that—he’d called Stan to warn him off, but his dad’s dodgy mate was refusing to pick up his phone. Mostly, though, when his mum rang, it was something trivial, like telling Leon the oven light had stopped working or that the neighbour’s dog had been killed by the tourist bus. ‘Do you want me to come home?’ he’d asked once or twice. But she’d turned him down, saying, ‘That’s kind, Leon, but it’s too far.’ She rang to tell him the bins hadn’t been emptied. ‘Maybe you should call the council,’ he’d said. ‘They’ll be able to tell you what happened.’ He knew she couldn’t discuss things with his dad, but he wished his father would make more of an effort to engage.

She rang when Leon was in the Parks Toyota with Miki and Geraldine, driving the winding road to the forest, headlights spearing the darkness. He wasn’t allowed to use his phone while driving, but right now he didn’t really care. He wasn’t supposed to carry passengers either, but nobody would see them at night. ‘Hi, Mum, is everything okay?’ he said quietly, acutely aware of Miki and Geraldine in the back seat.

‘Your father is vomiting,’ she said. ‘Do you think I should take him to hospital?’

This wasn’t the first time Leon’s dad had gone down in a heap. There had been intermittent episodes of vomiting ever since he’d first crashed and turned yellow. It was to be expected: his liver rebelling against constant abuse.

‘Maybe,’ Leon said. ‘But it’s hard to know from here. You’re probably the best judge. The last ferry is at seven-fifteen. You can still make it if you leave now.’

‘I have to get him dressed.’

‘The doctors won’t mind. Take him as he is.’

‘All right then. I’ll go.’

He hung up and focused on the dark road, swinging the curves and watching out for wallabies and wombats with a suicide wish—at night, they could barrel under the wheels at any time.

‘Is everything okay?’ Geraldine asked him.

‘Yeah, it’ll be fine.’

‘Somebody sick?’

‘My mum’s cat.’ They must have known he hadn’t been talking about a cat, but for some reason it was important to save face—he didn’t want to share his troubles from home.