Isla was asleep. He’d lift her into bed in a minute, so it all looked shipshape when Lou got back from Mandy’s. She’d been gone a while, come to think of it. Still, it was good for her to have someone to talk to. Mandy was a nice woman. She’d known what to do when Louisa was low, back when Isla was a baby. They’d come to rely on her.

Joe picked Isla up and carried her through to her room. It was going to be tough if Lou had another low patch with the new baby. He hadn’t said so, but it had been his first thought when she’d told him she was pregnant again: what if you can’t cope? What if you draw the curtains for six months and cry every time the baby cries?

He set Isla down on her bed and pulled the covers over her, found her Digby bear and tucked him in the crook of her arm. She’d be starting school before long, and if Lou got her driving licence, it would all start to come together. She’d be a busy mum, taking the kids to the beach, to the park, to school and back. She could stop working, stop relying on Mandy so much. Stop pining for home.

Isla turned in her sleep and kicked her covers off. She was the love of his life, this girl; this funny kid who came along before they were ready and knocked them sideways. The whisky was turning him soft, but still, it was a fact. He’d been mad about her from day one. He leaned down and kissed her forehead. Her hair and skin smelled sharply of the sea. He should have made her take a bath. Then again, it was outdoor dirt, the healthy kind of dirt that kids should smell of. He’d smelled of mildew and cabbages at her age, and had never seen the sea. He needed to remember that, whenever Louisa’s moaning got to him. This was a better life for them all, by a long shot.

He left Isla’s night light on and shut her door behind him. There was a shootout on the TV, filling the lounge room with gunfire and stampeding horses. It was almost ten o’clock. He took the whisky bottle through to the kitchen and topped up his glass. He’d make this his last one. Looking for matches in the second drawer down, among the elastic bands, coins from the old currency, reels of cotton and paperclips, he found a set of keys, held together with string and a cardboard tag that read Steve and Mandy. God help them if they ever needed their spare set; it was hopeless trying to find anything in this house. The thing you needed was never the thing that emerged from the chaos. He’d spent ages looking for the savings book earlier and hadn’t found it. The mess, the clutter, drove him mad. He couldn’t relax when the place was a tip. Louisa knew that. But she’d rather put up with mess than give in and do as he asked.