The next weekend, for reasons I didn’t fully understand, I invited Blocker around to watch the grand final of the NRL with Ben and me.
His mother didn’t think it was such a great idea, but his counsellor thought it would do him some good. So Blocker was with us when we watched Daniel score the winning try, with just seconds to go, against the Warrior’s old foes: The Blacktown Machetes.
The three of us leapt to our feet screaming as he dived over the line, lost the ball, recovered it, and slammed it down for the try.
Gumbo went wild, running round and round in tight circles and knocking over Mum’s precious antique clock on the side table, which we didn’t even notice until the next day.
Mrs Blüchner came around in a big old BMW to pick Blocker up after the game. He was on very tight reigns.
And, while we were waiting for his mother, Blocker told me about the lightning tower.
‘I really couldn’t hear anything you were saying,’ he said slowly, staring at the floor. ‘But, after all the crap I put you through, you still climbed the tower and risked your life to save me. I couldn’t understand why you’d do that.’
He lifted his gaze, looked me dead in the eye and said, ‘That was why I let go.’
On the Monday following, Dad got offered a job. It turned out that, for some time, Crime Time had been looking for a new presenter. PC Plod just wasn’t up to it. Dad wasn’t a cop, but he looked like one. One thing led to another, and he got invited to audition.
He won the role. Long-term. On-going. Well paid. We celebrated with a dinner out in a real flash restaurant.
I had known all along he would get the job, though. There was never any doubt in my mind.
I had been sitting next to the producer at the audition.