First published in 2018

Copyright © Jarrah Dundler 2018

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in

any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying,
recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior
permission in writing from the publisher. The Australian Copyright Act 1968
(the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or 10 per cent of this book, whichever
is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution for its educational
purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has
given a remuneration notice to the Copyright Agency (Australia) under the Act.

Allen & Unwin

83 Alexander Street
Crows Nest NSW 2065
Australia
Phone: (61 2) 8425 0100
Email: info@allenandunwin.com
Web: www.allenandunwin.com

A catalogue record for this

book is available from the
National Library of Australia

ISBN 978 1 76063 112 3

Set in 13.2/17.2 pt Adobe Jenson Pro by Bookhouse, Sydney

Printed and bound in Australia by Griffin Press

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

The paper in this book is FSC® certified.

FSC® promotes environmentally responsible,
socially beneficial and economically viable
management of the world’s forests.

Bh2948M-PressProofs.indd iv 5/04/18 9:10 AM

 1

I had just turned fourteen when my big brother Shaun went

off to fight the Taliban in Afghanistan.
The war’d only been raging for a year, but already our boys
and the rest of the team were kicking arse. Shaun’d been keen
to head from the get-go, back when the dust from the Twin
Towers was still settling. He was bummed when his squadron
wasn’t the first of the special forces crew chosen to fly off.
Gutted when they weren’t the second. So, when they were
third-time lucky he was over the moon. So was I—over the
moon and proud as.
Mum was too. But on the day Shaun left she was sad as well.
Sad as anything. I didn’t have a clue what my dad—Old Greggy
Boy—was feeling. He didn’t even come up from his caravan
by the creek to say goodbye. Guess it wasn’t a huge surprise,
given Dad and Shaun still weren’t talking after the big blue
they had years back. So, it ended up being just me and Mum
farewelling him from out the front of our farmhouse, which
sat on a hill smack bang in the middle of a couple of hundred
acres of prime farmland that hadn’t been farmed in years.

Bh2948M-PressProofs.indd 1 5/04/18 9:10 AM

 JAR R AH DUNDLER

It was just past the middle of winter and the sky was as clear
and sharp as glass. The air smelt like dry grass and chimney
smoke. Tiny brown birds with silver rings round their eyes
that’d come our way to escape the colder winter down south
darted between the bottlebrushes. They chirped and chirped
and chirped as they jetted round. Apart from Shaun’s boots
crunching along the driveway as he marched towards me, those
birds were the only things making a sound on that morning.
When he reached me he placed his hand on my shoulder.
I looked up; while I was a bit tall for my age I still had half a
foot to go till I reached Shaun.
‘Tryst.’
‘Yep?’
He looked up the hillside to the shed. Mum and Dad had
converted it into a room for Shaun when he was about my age.
Now he used it as a place for him and his girlfriend, Amy, to
stay when he was home on leave.
‘Take care of my stuff.’
‘Yeah! For sure.’
Shaun glanced over to Mum who was slouched on the front
steps, staring at the top of our dirt driveway, which wound its
way a few hundred metres down the hill.
He fixed me with his gold and green speared eyes. ‘And take
care of Mum, too.’
‘Well, I’ll do my best.’
‘Good.’ He nodded. ‘And Tryst . . .’
‘Yep?’
The corner of his left cheek curled into a lopsided grin. ‘You
think you could try and keep out of trouble?’
‘Ah, piss off!’ I slapped his hand off my shoulder.

Bh2948M-PressProofs.indd 2 5/04/18 9:10 AM

 Hey Brother

Shaun’s grin grew and he smiled at me in a way that made

me feel like I was as tall as him already.
He ruffled my hair, winked. ‘See ya, Little Man.’
‘See ya,’ I said. ‘Good luck.’
Done with me, he headed across the front yard towards Mum.
On the way he stopped and sat on the edge of the verandah
next to Kel, the last of Pop’s old kelpies. As Shaun patted her
head, Kel lifted her tail and—whack, whack—slapped it down
twice on the timber. A pretty good effort given her state. She
was about as old and worn as that hessian sack she slept on.
Shaun slid off the verandah and continued on to Mum. When
he reached the bottom of the steps she finally lifted her gaze,
locking eyes with him and standing slowly, then—whoosh—she
launched herself down to the bottom step, grabbed Shaun’s
head and squeezed it so hard it was like she was trying to pop
it like a balloon.
After half a minute or so, Shaun managed to wriggle free.
Then he pecked her on the cheek, turned and dashed over to his
bright blue Commodore SS. He leapt in—varroooooom—fired
her up and tore off down the driveway and onto Findle Creek
Road, Pantera’s ‘Cowboys from Hell’ blasting from his stereo.
Horn meep meep meeeeping. Dust billowing in his wake. Arm
waving wildly out the window till he rounded the first bend
and was out of sight.
I leant against the verandah post, watching the cloud of dust
trickle to the ground, listening to the growl of the V8 engine
rise and fall as Shaun wove through the valley. Once all the
dust’d settled, and once the Commodore’s engine was a faint
whir, I moved my eyes from the road to the crisp paddocks, to
the rolling hills, dotted with the occasional gum and a cluster

Bh2948M-PressProofs.indd 3 5/04/18 9:10 AM

 JAR R AH DUNDLER

of black boys, to the dark green ranges beyond, and up to that

glassy sky that Shaun’d be jetting through tomorrow morning
on his very first deployment.
Shit yeah! I raised my fist in the air, held it there for a few
seconds and as I was lowering it, way off in the distance, some-
where at the start of the valley, I thought I heard a faint meep.
Smiling, I looked over to Mum.
She was still standing, too. She wasn’t smiling, though.
And she didn’t have her fist in the air either, instead her hand
clutched the step’s railing.
Meep.
One last honk. Fainter than the last but I was sure of it this
time ’cause Mum flinched and her head turned slightly to the
right. Then she released the railing, cupped her hand over her
mouth and sat down. When her arse hit that step those tears
that’d been banking up for days finally fell.
And, jeez, how they poured. Like rain from a summer storm
cloud.
4
Those first two months were the roughest.
For those first few days Mum moped about getting all teary
every hour or so, carrying on like she’d forgot what Shaun’d
been training for all these years. Rustling up a care package
and posting it to Shaun cheered her up a bit and for the couple
of weeks after that she came good. But after a few more weeks
went by and we didn’t receive anything in return from him, she
started to get antsy. More antsy after we bumped into Amy at
the shops in Small Town and she told Mum that she hadn’t
heard from Shaun yet either. Then she got me to ferret round

Bh2948M-PressProofs.indd 4 5/04/18 9:10 AM

 Hey Brother

the dark depths of the laundry cupboard and fish out the old
portable radio. She tuned it to the station that just played news
all day, but those reporters were staying pretty tight-lipped
about our boys and only us fed dribs and drabs on the Yanks
and the rest of the team. After a few weeks of that, she spun
into one of her yo-yo phases that she got into from time to time.
Up and down she went. Up down. Up down. Fluttering
round the house one day doing a million things at once—
dusting, sweeping, cooking—and crashing the next, not getting
out of bed all day. I  had a hunch, a  bad hunch, about what
was coming next. What always came when she couldn’t cope
with something big that’d just happened. What’d come after
Pop’d died and left us the farm. What’d come when she lost
her job at the bakery.
The bottle. When she hit it, she hit it hard. Almost as
hard as her brother, my Uncle Trevor. So I wasn’t the least
bit surprised one afternoon after getting home from school,
kicking my shoes off, and walking down the hallway saying
Hooroo, Mum, to find her sprawled on the lounge, snoring,
a dozen empty cans of scotch and dry on the coffee table along
with an ashtray full of durry butts (even though she’d sworn
off them because that’s what’d got Pop in the end). For the few
weeks that followed I tried—like I told Shaun I would. Made
her cups of tea—milk and two, just how she liked it. Helped
out with the housework. Went with her on the weekly shop to
make sure she didn’t forget the food with her grog. But after
a month or so, after a few too many of my own cooked meals
(cheese on toast, two-minute noodles, tins of Rex’s Texas Chilli)
I was jack of it.

Bh2948M-PressProofs.indd 5 5/04/18 9:10 AM

 JAR R AH DUNDLER

I didn’t even bother asking Dad for help. Like Dad and Shaun,
Dad and Mum weren’t on speaking terms. And since Shaun’s
deployment, he hadn’t been up to the house once. At the mere
mention of his name Mum’s eyes would blaze. Those gold
and green spears, like Shaun’s, sharpening, preparing for war.
Getting Old Greggy Boy involved would do more harm than
good. I figured it’d only be some news, news from the front—a
letter from Shaun, a call to say he was on his way home—that’d
get her off the lounge. That, or some kind of miracle.
Then, a few months after Shaun’d left, a miracle came. And
it came in the form of a fish.

Bh2948M-PressProofs.indd 6 5/04/18 9:10 AM

 2

I t may sound like bullshit, but it’s true. I  caught the fish
that saved my mum’s life.
It was just past the middle of spring but already hot and
humid like summer might be coming early. Those noisy birds
that had been round when Shaun left had flown south again,
but we’d still had no word on when Shaun’d be doing the same.
Mum was at her worst. I was fed up of wasting my weekends
watching her lying about, so I decided to go down the creek
for a spot of fishing.
I headed into the kitchen and gave my best mate Ricky a
call to see if he was keen. The phone rang out. Typical. I could
just picture the two of them—Ricky sprawled out on the floor
watching TV, his old man nursing a beer on the ratty old couch
out on the verandah, yelling to each other, arguing over who
should get off their arse and answer the phone.
‘Lazy buggers,’ I said as I entered the lounge room, shaking
my head at the sight of Mum. She was in her usual spot, lying in
her usual way—on the couch on her back, a white bed sheet

Bh2948M-PressProofs.indd 7 5/04/18 9:10 AM

 JAR R AH DUNDLER

pulled up to her neck and tucked under her chin. Empty

cans of scotch and dry littered the coffee table. Above her the
motor of the old ceiling fan whirred loudly and the blades went
whoop, whoop, whoop as they chopped the thick air. A  noise
came from under the sheet, too: the radio that Mum’d taken
to cradling like a newborn baby while she slept.
It was still tuned to one of the stations where they don’t play
any music, just talk and talk and talk all day. The World Today
presenter, the old fella with the smooth deep voice, was talking
about an election in some far-flung country. Not Afghanistan,
though. If he started talking about Afghanistan, or the war, his
words would startle Mum awake like an alarm clock. That’s
why she kept the volume up almost full bore.
‘Mum!’ I poked her arm. ‘I’m going down the creek for a fish.’
She groaned and rolled onto her side.
‘Mum.’ I poked harder. ‘C’mon.’
Mum’d cracked the shits the other week when I ducked off
down the creek after school for a swim without telling her.
Told me she freaked out when she woke up and called for me
and I wasn’t there. Said I needed to tell her anytime I was
planning to head off somewhere. I  wasn’t too excited about
waking her, but I didn’t want to get a revving when I got back
on the off-chance she woke up while I was gone.
Better do it gently. I  reached down and tickled her foot.
That got her!
She groaned, sat up, propped a cushion behind her back.
She pushed a clump of matted auburn hair off her cheek and
opened her eyes.
Jeez, she looked rotten! Skin pale, clammy. The whites of her
eyes streaked with squiggly red lines. She yawned. Pwoar—smelt

Bh2948M-PressProofs.indd 8 5/04/18 9:10 AM

 Hey Brother

rotten, too. The stink of booze wafting off her furry tongue
sent me rearing back like some boxer’d smacked me right on
the nose.
‘Mum! I’m going fishing, alright?’
Mum fumbled with the radio under the sheet, turning the
volume down. ‘Yeah . . . Sure . . . Fine . . . Go on then.’
‘Got any messages for Dad?’
She closed her eyes and I thought she’d nodded off again,
but she was just thinking. ‘Nah . . . Nothing today.’
‘No word from Shaun yet?’
I just kind of blurted it out. Mum’s eyes popped open. Her
jaw clenched, and I knew I shouldn’t have asked.
‘Bloody hell, Trysten. You know I’d have told ya if I’d heard
from Shaun.’
‘Yeah, alright. Just thought I’d double-check.’
She could get real testy on that subject. I  always updated
Dad whenever I went down to the creek. Despite all the blueing
he and Shaun’d done I figured he’d want to know if we’d heard
from him. While he never asked about him, I knew Shaun was
on his mind. Dad had his own radio that was tuned in almost
as much as Mum’s.
Mum rubbed her temples with her thumb and forefinger
before she went on, slower, calmer. ‘Just tell yer father that I
haven’t received a letter, but reckon we’ll get something soon.’
‘Yep, righto. I’m off then!’
I fetched my reel, found an old bucket under the laundry
sink, went out front, sat on the top step and pulled on my boots.
Kel watched me from her hessian-sack bed, flicking her tail
from side to side.

Bh2948M-PressProofs.indd 9 5/04/18 9:10 AM

 JAR R AH DUNDLER

‘Sorry, old girl. Goin’ down the creek. Bit far for you,
I reckon.’
She yowled, tilted her head to the side.
‘Ah, c’mon! The only time you get off this verandah is to
waddle down those steps for a shit.’ I pointed to a fresh one,
only a few metres away. ‘And they’re getting bloody closer by
the day!’
Giving up, Kel moaned sadly, closed her cloudy eyes and
went back to dreaming her old-dog dreams. Before scooting
down the steps I walked over and gave her a quick pat on the
head and a scratch on the belly. ‘Poor old girl.’
As I walked round the side of the house and dashed down
the backyard to the top of the bushy slope, the blare of Mum’s
radio followed me. She’d turned it up again, full bore. Going
back to sleep, too. Which I guessed was a good thing—judging
from the state of her she needed every wink she could get.
4
Swinging my bucket and carrying a long, sharpened stick over
my shoulder I marched down the slope. Along the way I stopped
and dug some small holes with my stick and searched for bait.
I plucked out worms and witchetty grubs and cockroach-looking
things and tossed them into the bucket.
I halted at the bottom of the slope where the trees thinned
out and looked across to the grassy flats that spread ten or so
acres along the winding creek line. Once upon a time a dozen
head of beef cattle would’ve been trundling along those flats,
munching grass and mooing and shitting and pissing and not
much else at all. Another few dozen head’d be trundling along

10

Bh2948M-PressProofs.indd 10 5/04/18 9:10 AM

 Hey Brother

on the other side of the creek. No sign of ’em now, though. The
flats were Dad’s home now.
After about seven years of running beef cattle Dad decided
it wasn’t for him so he hatched a plan. Subdivide. Sell three
of our five hundred acres to our neighbour, Jim Davis, who
already owned almost a thousand acres all the way up the
valley and beyond to the National Park border. We could live
off the money for a bit, Dad reckoned. Plus he’d do something
with the couple of hundred acres we had left. Cultivate it.
Grow some crops. Chillies, corn, pumpkins, bananas. Stuff we
could sell at the markets. Maybe even get a nursery going! A few
months after selling, after he’d had a bit of a break, he used
Pop’s old ute, a  mustard coloured Landy, to ferry tray-loads
of gear down to the flats. Pots, planter trays, bags of potting
mix, star pickets, rolls of wire, bundles of shade cloth, sheets
of metal, and posts. Not long after, he towed our old caravan
down to use as a base while he worked.
I looked over to the middle of the flats, to Dad’s base; the
caravan and the piles of stuff that surrounded it. So far, after
almost two years, most of the gear Dad had dragged down
still lay about unused. All he’d done so far was build a shonky
looking greenhouse about the size of a cubby, plant a dozen
banana plants and a patch of measly tomatoes, and propagate
a few trays of native grass. Hadn’t made a cent out of any of
it, but. And it drove Mum spare. After a big row they had a
few months before Shaun went off to war, Dad spent a couple
of days rummaging underneath the house, going through all
his boxes and containers of stuff—all the bits and bobs he’d
collected over the years—and gathering blankets, cushions, old
books, camping chairs, tarps, tent poles, gas lanterns from round

11

Bh2948M-PressProofs.indd 11 5/04/18 9:10 AM

 JAR R AH DUNDLER

the house and loading it all into the Landy. Then before he
drove off, round the back of the hill, he told Mum the caravan
wasn’t going to be his base anymore, it was going to be his home.
I couldn’t spot him, but smoke was curling out of his fire pit
on the far side of the annex. He’d be round there somewhere.
Probably just sitting in his chair by the fire staring up at the trees
as if somewhere among their leaves and branches the answers
to the mysteries of life were hidden.
At the other end of the flats was the ancient gum that
loomed like a giant over the rest of the trees, its lower limbs
stretching over the fishing hole. I made a beeline for it. It had
been over a week since I’d been down to the caravan, which
meant Dad would chew my ear off if I gave him the chance.
I’d fish first, and catch Old Greggy on the way back up.
On the bank of the creek I baited the hand reel just the way
Shaun’d taught me—up their arses and through their mouths!—
and then I spun the end of the line round and round, faster and
faster, till it was going so fast that it carved a big circle of grey
into the air. I took aim and flung it out.
Plop!
The sinker shattered the glass-still surface and disappeared
into the murk. I  let the line fall and once I felt the sinker
settle into the mucky bottom I sat on my arse, tuned out and
waited for a bite.
I gazed at the surface of the water and up to the choppy
clouds and down to the twisted limbs of the gum and the rope
swing hanging from the lowest bough. The swing was getting
old now—threads frayed and probably close to snapping. Not
many goes left, I reckoned. Shame. Shaun and I had had some
fun times on it.

12

Bh2948M-PressProofs.indd 12 5/04/18 9:10 AM

 Hey Brother

I remembered our first goes on it when Shaun made the

swing. He’d scrambled up the trunk, inched his way out along
the long thick bough, tied up the rope and flung the end of it
back to me. I swung out, barely clearing the bank, and was so
chicken-shit when I was over the water I almost didn’t let go.
Shaun’d been the opposite. He took the swing right up to the
top of the bank, swung all the way over the swimming hole
and disappeared into the branches of the camphor laurel on
the bank on the other side. ‘Raah!’ he’d roared as he emerged
from the tree, letting go of the rope and falling through the air
in coffin position. Boosh went the water. ‘Yee-ha!’ went Shaun
as he breached the bubbly surface.
I sat for a while like this, drifting between thoughts and
memories, pulled from one to another, until the line pulled tight.
A bite!
I sprang to my feet. I  held my finger steady, waiting for
another. I got one. Then another.
‘Yee-fucken-ha!’
I’d hooked something.
Whatever it was, it sure was strong. The fishing line cut into
my hands, so I grabbed my digging stick and wrapped the line
around it a few times and pulled.
I slipped, and fell backwards onto the bucket. ‘Shit!’
I stood up, kicked the crushed bucket into the water and
dug my feet in. Pulled again. Harder, harder, until a shard of
silver speared out of the water.
A bass! A huge one too. Yeah!
I yanked her up onto the bank. She flipped and flapped like
she wanted to fight me, so I dropped my knee on her scaly side

13

Bh2948M-PressProofs.indd 13 5/04/18 9:10 AM

 JAR R AH DUNDLER

and grabbed a rock. I lifted it high and—smash!—brought it

down on her head as hard as I could.
I tore the hook out of her mashed-up cheek. Without the
bucket I’d have to spear her to carry her home. Just like Shaun’d
shown me, when we’d caught those catties and had nothing to
carry ’em in, I pierced the pointy end of my stick through her
gills on one side and out the other.
I held her up. She was almost as long as my hand and forearm.
Bigger than anything I’d ever caught. Bigger, I reckoned, than
anything Shaun’d ever caught.
I scrambled up the bank and looked across the flats. Straight
ahead was the bushy slope that led home.
I was keen to race up and show Mum. She’d be chuffed.
Reckoned she’d still be out cold, but. And would prob-
ably be for a while longer. Probably best to keep her sleeping,
I thought, and so I marched across the flats towards Dad and
his caravan and his piles and piles of junk.
4
Dad’s eyes widened and his thick grey brows almost launched
off his leathery forehead. He slapped his thigh and whistled
like a whipbird.
‘Whoa, Trysten! She’s a biggun, ain’t she?’
‘Yep.’
‘Hazard a guess she’s the biggest you’ve caught from the hole.’
‘Yep.’
‘Safe to say she’s the biggest anyone’s ever caught from the hole.’
‘Yep. Reckon so.’
‘What’d ya bait her with?’
‘Grub.’

14

Bh2948M-PressProofs.indd 14 5/04/18 9:10 AM

 Hey Brother

‘Ya gonna cook her up?’

‘Yeah! For sure. Mum and I will eat her for tea.’
‘S’pose yer gonna fry her?’
‘Yep . . . probably.’
‘I’ll tell you what.’ Dad gestured to the empty camping chair
opposite him. ‘I’ve got a tasty recipe that Mick passed on to
me. Go on, take a seat and I’ll talk ya through it.’
Mick lived over the ridge in the valley next to ours in
a tiny shack not much bigger than our lounge room. He’d
built it with timber from ironbarks he felled and milled all
on his own. Sometimes Dad’d drive the Landy up along the
fire-trails on the forestry land and over the ridge to visit Mick
in his shack. Sometimes Mick’d come and visit Dad. Other
than Mick, I was the only visitor, the only other arse in that
camping chair. I  reckoned Dad got pretty lonely, so I tried
to pop down at least once a week and spend some time with
him, even though most times he bored the pants off me and
when he got his grump on he could really piss me off. I really
wouldn’t have minded sitting down and gloating a bit today,
but there’d been something in the back of my mind since I
arrived at the caravan, tugging away at my head like the fish
had been tugging at the line only minutes earlier. Something
to do with Dad’s excitement about my catch. Something to do
with Mum sleeping. Something to do with showing her the
fish. Something to do with—yeah, that was it—a surprise!
‘Sorry, Dad. Got to get home.’
Dad slumped, the springs in his camping chair and the
joints in his back creaking at the same time. ‘Right, yeah . . .
sure. Off ya go then.’
‘Yep. See ya!’

15

Bh2948M-PressProofs.indd 15 5/04/18 9:10 AM

 JAR R AH DUNDLER

I jogged across the flats, the speared fish over my shoulder,

but paused at the bottom of the slope. I felt a bit sore at myself
for leaving Dad hanging like that. I  turned and cupped my
hands over my mouth. ‘Oi, Dad!’
He popped round from the other side of the caravan. ‘Yeah?’
The word hung in the air like a thistle seed, and he tilted
his head back, waiting, as I searched for something to say.
I thought I had nothing. Then I remembered.
‘Yeah . . . um . . . Mum still hasn’t heard from Shaun. No
letters or anything yet, but reckons she will soon.’
‘Yep. Okay. Thanks, mate.’
Dad waved—broad and high—but even from all the way
across the flats I could see the rest of his body crumpling with
disappointment.
4
I crept down the hallway to the lounge room, holding the fish
on the stick, and knelt behind the couch. Above my head the
fan whooped the air. The radio blasted. Mum snored.
I stood. I raised the skewered fish and dangled it over Mum’s
chest.
‘Mum,’ I whispered. ‘Mum, look what I caught.’
Out cold—whispering wouldn’t do. I  was about to speak
louder when the newsman said the magic words: And now to
the conflict in Afghanistan . . .
Mum’s eyes sprang open.
‘Aaaaaarrrrrgghhhh!’
Hiiieeeya! Mum karate chopped the fish right across its belly.
The fish tore from the stick, ripping its head open, and fell on
her lap. Little chunks of goop splattered over the sheet. Mum

16

Bh2948M-PressProofs.indd 16 5/04/18 9:10 AM

 Hey Brother

screamed again and sat bolt upright. The fish tumbled to the
floor, tail flicking like it was still alive and still wanted to fight.
The radio fell from Mum’s flailing arms and crashed in front of
the coffee table. Mum leapt up and away from the fish and gave
me the fiercest glaring she’d given me in my whole life. Then
she glared at the fish. Then back to me. Then back to the fish,
which just lay on the floor, black eyes wide open and popping
out as if it was more shocked and confused than Mum was.
Well, I’d wanted to get her up and moving, but that may’ve
been too much. ‘Oops.’
‘Oops?! Christ, Trysten!’ Mum shrieked. ‘What the fucken
hell is wrong with you?’
‘Sorry.’ I squatted to take cover behind the couch and peeped
over the top. ‘I thought you would—’
She brought her index finger to her pursed lips. ‘Shhh!
Shoosh now!’
Her eyes darted. I  followed the direction of her gaze.
Something on the floor. The radio. Shit! I hadn’t even noticed
that it had become detuned. All that was coming out of the
speaker was crackle and fuzz.
Mum scooped it up and quickly retuned it.
‘. . .  that’s the end of our bulletin. Coming up next is Karen
Hunter with the local . . .’
Oops again.
Mum’s eyes narrowed. Her brow tightened. I thought she
was going to pounce on me. But she didn’t. A noise held her
steady—a cracking noise from above.
We both looked up. The fan was still whooping and whir-
ring, but now it was also making a thunk-thunk-thunk sound. It
had tilted so much that as it spun the blades chopped the ceiling.

17

Bh2948M-PressProofs.indd 17 5/04/18 9:10 AM

 JAR R AH DUNDLER

Then the plaster behind the fan fitting began to crumble away
and fall. A screw dropped and hit one of the empty scotch and
dry cans lying on the coffee table—ding!—like a pellet from
a slug gun.
I flew across the room and flicked the fan dial off.
I was too late. The fan ripped away from the ceiling, filling
the room with a hissing, tearing, cracking noise as it spun on
its way down—whoop whoop whop whop chop—like a wayward
helicopter blade. It landed on the couch and spluttered and
hissed while the blade struggled to spin. A final piece of cord
whipped down like a striking snake and fizzed for a few seconds.
Then silence fell.
I stared at the carnage. The fan had landed right where
Mum had been. The middle of the fan, the heaviest part with
the motor in it, rested right where Mum’s head had rested just
seconds earlier.
Seconds earlier. Seconds earlier, and Mum’s head would
have been just like the fish’s. Mum stared too, eyes wide as
the dead fish’s, her mouth open. I  reckon she was thinking
just the same as I was. I don’t know how long we both stood
there staring before she broke the silence with a ‘ha’. She didn’t
actually laugh, she just said ‘ha’, like she wanted to laugh but
couldn’t quite get there.
‘Ha,’ she said again and again, over and over. ‘Ha ha ha ha ha
ha ha.’ Then she did laugh properly—big spluttering chuckles.
Her face went red. She fell to her knees.
I looked at her. Then at the fan. Back to the fish, and then
I giggled something fierce. My stomach cramped. My cheeks
caned. I stumbled across the room, past the crashed fan and

18

Bh2948M-PressProofs.indd 18 5/04/18 9:10 AM

 Hey Brother

the mess, and stood closer to Mum. We laughed so hard we

both fell to the floor.
Shit, we had some fun, rolling round on the floor laughing
our guts up and sucking in the smell of fresh bass and plaster
dust and scotch and cigarette ash. We laughed till tears welled
in our eyes and streamed down our cheeks.
And, best of all, when Mum looked up she was beaming. She
looked terrific. By far the best I’d seen her since Shaun’d left.

19

Bh2948M-PressProofs.indd 19 5/04/18 9:10 AM