Tonight there is only the drone of his snoring, loud enough that you’d think it was on purpose just to piss you off. If he would stop for a minute, turn down the sound at least, she could listen harder, find Lena. She strains, willing it. Like old times, except now she can’t tiptoe light as a pixie and lean weightlessly over the sleeping child. Now she is heavier than the world and just as stuck.

  A wave of nausea and she rolls to her side and dry-retches onto the floor. How can throwing up nothing hurt so badly, like all her insides are being scraped raw by the same razor wire squeezing her ribs and digging deep into her spine?

  ‘Arnienic?’ Will’s voice, sleep-slurred and young. ‘Youkayarnienic?’ His outline in the doorway, bare-chested and with a bed-hair halo. A memory like a punch in the heart: the full trusting weight of his head in her left hand as she scooped warm water over his sudsy, baby-soft hair. My beautiful little Will, she wants to say to him, there’s nothing harder than loving a child who is not your own. Nothing.

  She can’t speak, is racked with failed vomiting.

  ‘Shit. Are you being sick? You need a bucket or …’ Light on and her big little boy by her side, touching her forehead with his rough, working man’s hand. His eyes keep fluttering closed as though it hurts to see. ‘I’m gonna get you some water, ’kay? And a cloth or something. Hang on.’

  He does as he says, wiping her sweaty face and feeding her some water. It helps and it makes her wish for death. This shouldn’t be.

  Will presses the same washcloth he used on her face to his own forehead. His eyes flutter and flutter as he studies her painkiller packet and checks the time and scrunches up his face, calculating. It hasn’t been long enough; she can tell by his lip-biting. She lets the moan she’s been holding in escape. He wipes her forehead again, but the cloth is dry and warm.

  ‘It’s a bit soon for more tablets.’

  ‘How soon?’

  ‘Should be another hour and a half, I think.’

  ‘I can’t wait that long.’

  ‘Hang on.’ He plods from the room, comes back with eyes and thumbs on his phone. ‘I’m just … Okay, I think it’ll be … Your dose is at the high end but not … A little early won’t cause …’

  Does he know he keeps trailing off, that she can’t actually read what he is reading?

  ‘Yeah, ’kay. Then hopefully you’ll sleep long enough to … So the next one won’t be …’

  She swallows the pills, asks him for help to the bathroom, is grateful he waits outside the door for her. Hates that he waits outside the door for her. When she’s back under the covers he surprises her by sitting on the end of her bed.

  ‘Is it okay if I stay here a bit?’

  ‘If you like.’

  ‘I’m not bothering you?’

  ‘Not at all,’ she says. ‘You don’t need to watch over me, though, if that’s what you’re doing.’

  ‘Nah, nah, I know.’

  She waits for the tablets to take effect. Even wide awake and in pain she feels better having Will here. The weight of him there by her feet is what’s been missing.

  ‘Have you ever found out something and just wished so hard you could un-know it?’ he says after a little while.

  ‘Hmm. Yeah, I s’pose so. Must have. Why?’

  ‘Nothing. Just thinking.’ He shifts his weight and the movement ricochets up her leg into her hip. ‘Up at Mercy’s place we had this neighbour, a few doors down. Neil. He’d sit on his front porch, sunrise to sunset, with this massive thermos, a crossword book and a blue heeler called Winky. I got in the habit of stopping by most days on my way home from work. I’d take a six pack of VB or Neil’d bring out a mug and share the coffee from his thermos. Strong whisky-flavour to that coffee, which I didn’t mind. We’d talk a bit, but not about anything really. I just liked hanging with him there because, see, he never talked about it but I knew from Mercy that Neil had done serious time. Twenty years at least, she said. It was inspiring. Shit word, that one, but it fits. Inside for more than twenty years and still, here he was, acting as if his life was a sweet and worthwhile thing. Every new day worth lingering over and enjoying. Never talked down about stuff, or like he was ruined or a failure.’

  She needs to tell him he is not either of those things, never will be, but the medication is kicking in, has filled her mouth with chewy toffee.

  ‘One arvo Neil wasn’t on the porch. Didn’t take long before the whole street knew that he’d dropped the dog at the pound then gone home and hanged himself. People said it was no surprise, he couldn’t stand the guilt, and I realised I’d never thought to wonder what he’d done to be locked up so long. I should’ve wondered, don’t you reckon?’

  You were just minding your own business, she attempts to say, but it comes out garbled and, anyway, he’s continued speaking as if she’s not even there.

  ‘Once I knew what he’d done, I felt … I felt like giving up on everything. Knowing that crimes like that even happened was too much, let alone that this nice bloke who loved his dog and his crosswords and watching the neighbourhood go about its peaceful business could be responsible … I was so angry. Fucking furious. And I said to Mercy that it was because I felt tricked by him, his kindness. But being honest, for real I don’t think that was it. I think I was angry because I’d been forced to know about this awful thing and I’d rather not. I’d rather have kept being his friend if he lived or kept a nice memory of him when he died. It’s not like I don’t care what he did; it’s that once I knew I did care, and I didn’t want to. You know what I mean, Aunty Nic? I don’t want to have to care about everything all the time. You know?’

  She is cold and hot at the same time, tries to tell him, I didn’t ask you to come. It is very important that she make this clear and so she says it again, more slowly and with great concentration. ‘I. Didn’t. Ask. You. To. Come.’

  ‘What?’ Will stands. Without his weight her bed is a flimsy thing, likely to float away. ‘I’m not talking about you. It’s nothing to do … Forget it. Go to sleep.’

  Anger in his voice, and for the first seconds after he leaves the room her blood itches with worry for him and for her and for what has passed between them. Gratefully, she remembers the narcotics have been waiting for her to stop resisting. She lies back and lets the surge take her.

  LENA

  Two beers and three sambucca shots in, after Kylie had filled Lena in on Lacey’s birth, and then working backwards, her gestational diabetes, her miscarriage, her escape from an abusive relationship, her mother’s breast cancer and her various high school flings and suspensions, Lena blurted out that there was a video of her having sex online.

  ‘No way!’ Kylie said, slapping her hand over her mouth. ‘Kim Kardashian in the house! Woot woot!’

  ‘Shhhh,’ Lena said. Ty was sleeping in the bedroom, which was one very thin wall away from where they sat.

  ‘Serious, though. Can I see?’

  ‘No! It’s not something I want to, like, share. I didn’t do it on purpose.’

  ‘Your bloke uploaded the vid without you knowing?’

  ‘He took the vid without me knowing. Then he uploaded it.’

  ‘Fuuuck. What a cunt. Sorry, Leen, but that’s a seriously cunty thing to do. Do ya need someone to smash him? Is he big? Ty does all right, but if your bloke’s big we can get Ty’s karate teacher to do it. Brick shithouse.’

  ‘Don’t karate teachers have some honour code or something? Not allowed to use their skills on randoms?’

  ‘Yeah, probably, but this bloke’s not proper. He just fucking loves karate, teaches some mates in his mum’s basement. And anyway, this wouldn’t be a random. It’d be targeted.’ Kylie karate-chopped the air, dropped the empty shot glass she’d been holding. It bounced off the carpet and Lena caught it mid-air. The two of them couldn’t breathe from laughing for several minutes.

  They calmed down by knocking back another shot each. Lena’s stomach felt dangerously queasy but the rest of her felt better than she had in weeks.

  ‘So tonight, earlier, I went to a hotel with the fuckwit who filmed me.’

  Kylie slammed her fist on the floor. ‘What are you telling me? Fuuck, Lena. Spill, spill.’

  Lena told her what had happened but with more violence and kick-arse repartee on her part and more grovelling and crying on Josh’s.

  ‘You, Lena Harris, are a fucking bad bitch. For real you are. But listen, hey …’ She leant forward, forehead touching Lena’s. ‘Next time, get him starkers and excited and all that, right, and then kick him hard as you can in the dick. While he’s down, whining and all that, you film him. Spread the vid of him being a little bitch all over the internet, see how he likes it.’

  Lena opened another beer, drank deeply. If she could kiss Kylie all over her face without it being weird, she would.

  ‘Won’t be a next time,’ she said. ‘I’m all business from now on. Gonna make him pay for a scrubbing service and—’

  ‘A what now?’

  Lena explained about the internet removal company, told her how much it cost.

  ‘Wait wait wait wait wait!’ Hands in the air, voice so loud the whole street had to be hearing it. ‘You’re telling me you’re going to pay some bloke in Parra more money than I make in a frickin’ year to look for your hoo-ha on the internet?’

  ‘Not just look for my hoo-ha, mate. Delete it.’

  Kylie shook her head, pulled herself to a standing position using both hands on the lounge. Clomped three or so steps to the bedroom door, pushed it open. Lena would’ve stopped her but she was helpless with laughter and booze.

  ‘Ty, babe, Ty, wake up a sec. Come out here a minute. It’s important, come on, yeah, just for a second.’

  ‘Kylie, no. What are you doing?’

  Kylie had the best look on her face. Kid on Christmas morning. She poured them each another shot. They downed them as Ty stumbled out, wearing a pair of bottle-green footy shorts and nothing else. His hair was halfway to the roof. Lena and Kylie couldn’t stop laughing. It was beginning to hurt.

  ‘How pissed are youse?’ he said, dropping onto the lounge next to Kylie. ‘What ya got there? Fucking sambucca? Bloody hell.’

  ‘Listen, listen.’ Kylie struggled to get herself under control. Ty shook his head, but warmly, Lena could tell. Like how Dad used to shake his head at Mum when she drank too much Lambrusco and got all clumsy and loud.

  ‘So, listen. Lena’s got a job offer for ya.’

  ‘Shut up, ya bitch!’

  ‘Nah, Leen, he’ll do it heaps cheaper for you. Serious, Ty, listen.’

  Lena leapt on Kylie, clamped a hand over her mouth. It was better than kissing her, jumping on her full-bodied, wrestling and laughing like they were eight years old.

  ‘Youse are fuuucked.’ His tone said, Youse are glorious.

  Somehow they calmed down. Kylie told Ty, brief and crude, what had happened.

  ‘Right. You want me to fuck him up? He big? I can get some fellas together.’

  ‘I thought maybe Wayno,’ Kylie said.

  ‘Yeah, yeah. Could do it, could do it. Where’s this grub live?’

  ‘No. Thank you, but no. I don’t want him bashed. I just want to forget I ever met him.’

  ‘Not being a dick or nothing,’ Ty said, ‘but that’s gonna be hard when there’s footage of you rooting him all over the internet.’

  ‘Yeah. So, my plan is, I think, move back to Brissie for a bit and—’

  ‘Boo! Queensland!’

  ‘Shush, ya boofhead.’

  ‘Just to get out of the intense sort of, ah, scrutiny and that. Meanwhile, I’m going to make him pay for the removal service, if I can. And if I can’t do that, or it doesn’t work, then last resort is I change my name so anyone who googles it doesn’t get an eyeful of my tits.’

  ‘That’s what they’d see if they googled you now is it? Just type in, what? Lena—what’s your last name?’

  ‘Not funny, Ty. Gross. But listen, Leen, honestly, fuck that plan.’

  ‘What? No good?’

  ‘Fuck, no. Get your hands on that amount of money you buy yourself a car or a holiday or something. Don’t pay some weirdo to spend weeks watching you screw. And your name, Leen. Come on. You can’t let this fucker take that from you.’

  ‘It’s just a name.’ But even as she said it she knew she could never do it. If Dad was alive maybe she wouldn’t care. But she had so little of him now. She couldn’t let his name go.

  ‘So what then? Just accept that everyone I meet for the rest of my life will know what my come face looks like?’

  ‘Jesus,’ Ty said.

  ‘Yeah—I mean, nah,’ Kylie said. ‘Like, some people will and so what? I bet your come face is bloody gorgeous.’

  ‘Fucking hell.’ Ty rubbed his head. ‘Should I leave?’

  ‘But there’s so much porn on the internet, Leen. Like, for real. And do you know who all those women are? Would you have the slightest clue if the chick who serves you at Maccas or your teacher at uni or, hell, your mum is one of those eighty billion videos?’

  ‘Her mum! Settle, Kyles. Jesus.’

  ‘I’m just saying. It feels like everyone is—what’d ya say?—got you under scrutiny, but it’s just fresh and that. Plus you’re living right among these idiots. Time’ll go on and your bits will be just another set of bits bouncing around out there, and if someone does match ’em up with the real-life Lena Harris they know, then lucky fucking them, I say. Getting to know this cool chick for real and seeing her hoo-ha as well.’

  Lena was drunk and nauseous and teetering on the verge of another bout of hysterical laughing, but under all that she felt a pocket of air opening in her lungs. Clear, clean air which swelled her chest, helped her sit up straighter, made her feel like she could take a deep breath without hyperventilating. Without choking.

  Kylie and Ty went to bed. Lena crawled under a blanket on their lounge which smelt like pot and chicken noodle soup. She didn’t think she’d sleep, for the usual reasons plus sambucca wooziness, but next minute it was daytime and a shower was running, a kettle boiling. Ty was singing one of those shithouse glam rock songs that Nic loved so much. Kylie yelled, ‘Just going to pick up bubba,’ and the front door slammed.

  The shower stopped and then Ty was on the armchair across from Lena, dressed in a pale pink towelling robe that stopped at his knees. He raised his steaming mug. ‘Help yourself to coffee or whatever else in the kitchen.’

  ‘Thanks.’ If she moved she’d spew. She closed her eyes, hand over her nose to block the coffee smell. Listened to him sipping, flicking his lighter.

  ‘Listen,’ he said, after a bit. ‘Serious, hey. We’ve all done stupid shit. I walked over hot coals once and burnt the fuck out of my feet. Dickhead mates filmed the whole thing. That’s out there on the YouTube. Maybe worse. Used to get blackout drunk and that before Kyles and bubba, you know. Coulda done anything.’ He took a sip, smacked his lips together. ‘Point is, but, everyone’s a fucking idiot.’

  ‘True, yeah,’ Lena said.

  ‘Everyone’s a fucking idiot,’ he repeated. ‘Remember that and you’ll be right.’

  WILL

  A scuttling in the corner woke him. Took a few seconds for him to make out Aunty Nic crouched by the bar fridge, pulling out bottles of drink and dropping them on the carpet in front of her.

  ‘Aunty Nic, let me … What do you need?’

  Nic closed the fridge door, put both hands on the top and hauled herself to a standing position. Will leapt from the sofa, but she muttered, I’m fine, and so he stood back, watched as she wedding marched from the room. That was what Dad called it. His way of moving, towards the end, from the bed to the bathroom, sometimes the living room to watch TV. One foot out. Pause. Bring the other foot to meet it. Pause. Step out. Pause. Other foot to meet the first. If any of them told him to sit down, said, Let me help, he’d brush them off, fake cheery voice: Just practising me wedding march. It’d made Will want to knock the old man to the ground, kick him in the crumbling lungs. Stop pretending, he wanted to scream. Admit you’re fucking dying on us. Of course, he never did that. Never did anything to show Dad that he knew how hopeless it was. Even the pot was a way to continue the pretence: Give you your appetite back, help you get better quicker.

  Watching Aunty Nic wedding march out of his sight didn’t make him want to knock her down or kick her. Didn’t make him want to do anything except call Mercy and ask her what he should do. What was the right thing? Aunty Nic was clearly not fine on her own, but she refused to let him do anything other than dole out her painkillers. Lena had apparently pissed off back home, and it was only when he imagined Mercy asking, Where does your sister live? that he realised he’d never asked, and that made him feel even more fucking helpless and useless.

  He checked his phone: no messages or missed calls. Nearly midday. Shit. He remembered, then. Around 6 a.m., desperate enough to yank out the tooth on his own if he could find some pliers, he’d taken two more Endone. The relief hadn’t been instant. He’d lain still for what felt like days, listening to cats yowling under the window, almost gone back for a couple more pills, but then all at once the warm syrup swooshed through him and his jaw relaxed and next thing was waking to Aunty Nic scrambling at the fridge.

  He crouched where she’d been a minute earlier, put the drinks back, leaving out a small bottle of orange juice to take in to her. He’d love some himself, but everything except water and milk took his pain to the next level. Yesterday at the hospital he’d bought a pot of sweetened plain yoghurt and managed to suck it down okay. Why hadn’t he thought ahead, bought an armful to keep him going? Like he didn’t know he’d need to eat again within the next twenty-four hours. And he thought he could be a dad, take care of vulnerable kids when he couldn’t even—