Where I come from we call that survival.

Today she was delivering a birthday cake in the shape of a football. Rachel had assumed it was for a child until she received the instructions from Nancy, the man’s wife. Please write: Happy 72nd birthday, Jimmy.

‘I take it Jimmy is a football fan?’ Rachel asked, when Nancy arrived at the door. There was, Rachel noticed, no sign of a party underway.

‘He most certainly is,’ Nancy said. ‘He played for the Hawks for twelve years. But that was a long time ago.’

‘No way! I’m a Hawks fan.’

‘Naturally – they’re the best team,’ Nancy said with a wink. She opened the box. ‘Ah, look at this. It’s perfect. He’ll love it.’

‘Are you having a party?’

‘Well, no. Jimmy isn’t a big fan of crowds these days. He has dementia, you see.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

Rachel thought about adding that her mum did too, but she held it back. So often when she told someone about Mum’s dementia they interrupted, desperate for her to know about their mum, their friend, their husband who also had it. Sometimes it was nice to keep the attention on the person who was sharing.

‘We think it was the football,’ she said, lowering her voice. ‘So many falls and knocks to the head. I can’t even count the number of times he was in hospital for concussion.’

‘And you think that caused the dementia?’

Nancy shrugged. ‘They don’t know for sure. But there is a proven link between repeated head trauma and dementia later in life.’

‘Really?’ Rachel thought of her mother. The head injuries she had sustained over the years from various trips and falls. I’m so clumsy, Mum always used to say. Always tripping or stumbling on something. ‘I didn’t know that.’

Nancy smiled sadly. ‘You see a lot of these ex-sportspeople developing symptoms in their fifties and sixties. They think they’re invincible when they’re young, but then it turns out they aren’t.’

‘I know what you mean,’ Rachel said, then added, ‘I hope Jimmy enjoys the cake.’

Nancy thanked her again, and then shut the door. But as Rachel made her way back to the car, she realised something. Despite her mother being notorious for clumsiness, Rachel had never seen her stumble. Not once.

33

HEATHER

‘Look, Miles!’ Stephen said. ‘Bluey has come to your party!’

Stephen pointed at Sonny, who was encased in an inflatable dog costume and waving a giant hand at the dozen little party guests, who were exhilarated at Bluey’s arrival. Miles was not exhilarated. He let out a piercing scream and cowered behind Stephen, his little arms wrapped around his grandfather’s knees as he shrieked, ‘No Bluey! No Bluey!’

It was Heather’s very first kids’ birthday party. She’d been looking forward to it. She’d spent days researching the perfect present before deciding on a wooden fire station, complete with fire trucks, firemen and a pole (though now she was wondering if she should have got the Bluey paraphernalia she’d seen at Big W for a quarter of the price).