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respect in a hospital,’ growled Dad, tapping the arm of his chair.

‘Just like the old days,’ said Philly.

‘What’s your excuse, then, JJ?’ asked Tim.

‘What?’

‘Tessa’s taking Dad home, Philly’s brought food, it’s my visiting day. What brings you to the paddock?’

Dad sat up, all ears.

‘Mum’s birthday’s coming up.’

‘What’re you drivin at?’ he snarled.

‘It’s been fourteen years,’ I said.

Everybody stopped, Tessa looking at me like I was some daft cow.

‘Remember the good stuff. I mean…’ I shrugged carefully, nonchalantly. ‘We were lucky to have her with us as long as we did. Could have been worse. She nearly died after Philly…’ I let it trail away.

Dad nodded, but sat up straighter, trying to get in close on what I was up to.

‘That hysterectomy saved her.’

‘What bloody hysterectomy?’ said Tessa.

Bingo.

I watched Dad out of the corner of my eye, watching me.

‘You wouldn’t know,’ I said. ‘You were what, five?’

She shrugged. Turned to Dad. ‘She didn’t have a hysterectomy, did she, Dad?’

‘That’s right,’ he said. Looking everywhere but me. ‘Came whisker close, though, she was that crook.’ As though the whisker made up for his earlier lie.

‘So let’s celebrate Mum,’ I finished brightly, now looking around at everybody.

‘No need,’ said Dad, tapping away. ‘I’ll pay for a Mass on her anniversary, just like I do every year. You should all come to that, though. Do you buggers good.’

Tim clipped me again, as if to say, Thanks very much.

‘We’ll go as a family. Like the old days.’ Dad got himself straighter again.

Tessa zipped up the suitcase. ‘Good idea, Dad.’

‘I was thinking something sooner than her anniversary,’ I said.

‘What’s your hurry?’ asked Tim.

I scratched my palm. ‘With Aunty Peg gone, it’s the end of an era. We’ve packed up her place. It’s on the market. It feels like something’s finished. Us kids will all get a share of the results of Peg’s sound financial management, which will open the possibility of something new for all of us. It’s time. We should finally put everything behind us.’

Tim folded his arms and sat back. Philly went out the door to tip the water out of the vases. Dad eyed me, searching for something. ‘Could be right,’ he said, slowly.

‘What would we do?’ asked Tessa.

‘Get the priest in for a blessing,’ said Dad.

‘If we’re going to do this, then we need to do it right,’ said Tim, getting to his feet. ‘Mum loved Jean’s Corner. That’s where we’ll do it.’

‘I’m not getting a priest in to bless a bloody corner,’ said Dad. He banged the arm of his chair.

I shrugged. ‘Lunch. Dad’s place. Sunday week.’

Dad grimaced and looked out the window, trying to figure out if I was up to anything. Tessa screwed up her face at Tim and passed Dad a glass of water, getting in close and hovering beside him.

‘Father McGinty’s busy, probably couldn’t come to just a—’ started Tessa.

‘Leave that to me,’ said Tim. ‘Father McGinty and I are like that.’ He crossed his fingers in the air.

‘Ever since you painted his arse blue through the hole in the back of the dunny?’ I asked.

‘He’s an old bloke.’ Tim grinned. ‘Brain soft. What he’ll remember is me getting that bloody ten-foot flagpole up on the school grounds a couple of months back.’

Dad shook his head and mumbled.

‘Mum gave me a hiding and a half over that blue arse,’ said Tim.

‘Don’t forget to mention that,’ I said. ‘In your speech.’

‘Mother Whack-A-Lot,’ said Tim, still grinning. ‘She was a bloody firecracker, wasn’t she?’

‘Bit of respect for your mother,’ said Dad, shaking his head. ‘Talking ill of the dead.’

‘God going to strike him down, hey?’ I asked Dad.

‘Strike the bloody lot of you, the way you’re going.’

‘Maybe it’s not appropriate to have Father McGinty around all of this.’ Tessa circled her finger around all of us.

‘No. He should be there,’ I said, so quickly Dad cast another suspicious glance my way.

Philly came back and Tim asked her how she was fixed for two Sundays away.

‘I would have thought I could depend on you to put a stop to this,’ she said to Tessa.

Tessa shrugged. ‘Could finally shut JJ up.’

‘There is that,’ said Philly.

‘Just one rule,’ I said.

Everybody looked at me, all still and waiting for something bad.

‘No bloody poems, Philly.’

‘Mrs Tyler loved that poem,’ she said.

‘We should invite her,’ said Tessa. She looked around at us. ‘If we’re doing it properly.’

‘And Mrs Nolan,’ I said.

‘No bloody way,’ said Dad. ‘Leave it just to us.’

‘We’ll need photos,’ I said. ‘The one you’ve got, Dad, and any others we have. I’ll come around to dig out her rosary beads.’

Dad struggled out of the chair. Tessa swooped in under his arm. ‘Be glad to see the back of this joint,’ he said. ‘Even with Maureen.’ Tim picked up the suitcase, Philly was on the Esky and I came behind with a couple of plastic bags of old roses from Shelley’s garden, my arms full of all kinds of love: red for romantic, yellow for peace, white for forgiveness.

Dad said his thanks to the nurses at the desk. We processed down the hall, all as slow as Dad’s shuffle. Tessa had been all for getting him a wheelchair, but he wouldn’t have it. She’d argued for a walking stick, then, but he’d told her that if he was well enough to leave the hospital, he was well enough to walk out on his own two feet. Tessa had given up, but he was leaning all he was on to her and she was struggling under it.

Philly fell back so that it was just her and me. ‘What are you up to?’ she asked.

I shook my head, all I don’t know what you are talking about.

‘Listen, if you’re serious about finally abandoning your crime theory, you need to be serious about the next thing. You have to contact Maurice and see if he’ll let you go back to work.’

I winked at her. ‘Mission accomplished.’

‘God,’ she said. ‘What did he say?’

I seesawed my head. ‘It took a bit. Not for him to give me the