At least I’m not the only snitch in Banarang anymore. There are plenty.

When I got home after seeing Naya, Mum was waiting and she was pissed off. She’d never been angry with me like this before. Naya had called her and told her about the tyre thing. Apparently the Hyundai driver had mentioned it a while ago too, but Mum didn’t connect it with me.

Mum shouted at me heaps and then ‘grounded’ me. So American. I deserved it.

I basically spent the rest of the week in bed or sitting in class totally vegetative.

The crew thought I’d be happy because the day after the swim, Shitty sent out a Snap apologising for calling me ‘Lil Boner’ and admitting that he hadn’t seen my dick. I thought I could hear a snippet of Naya’s voice at the end saying ‘Perfect’, but it cut out. I guess she’s his media advisor now. She even posted a photo of a bunch of big purple flowers on her Instagram that were clearly from him. She captioned it: ‘Making a difference… maybe #Rewards #HeGotaB+’. I should be happy for her. But I’m not.

I slept a lot over the week. And I had weird, vivid dreams. About Naya. And my family. They might have been caused by withdrawals, because I took half-doses of Prozac all week. I’m weaning myself off it. Dad’s pretty pleased about that.

Before those dreams started, though, when I was trying to get to sleep, my closed eyelids would turn into projector screens, playing back that night from almost a year ago. As far as scandals go, it was about as mundane as it gets, but that didn’t stop me reliving it every hour for weeks after it happened.

I made the mistake of telling Trav what I saw, and he made the mistake of telling Shitty. The weeks after that were the worst. Christmas, New Years. I didn’t want to stay home, because it was empty and depressing, but I couldn’t go out, because Shitty wanted to kill me.

I kept wishing I hadn’t said anything. After about a month, Mum ordered me to stop thinking and talking about it. So I did. I put it in a bubble and blew it away. I trusted that it would all work out in the end.

But it’s always been there. Not just floating by, either, it’s been right in front of me. I’ve been living in my peripheries for nearly a year. But tonight, with nothing else to lose, I let the memory have me.

There’s laughter, hiccupy fits of it. That’s not strange for a Friday night on our street, but I’ve been dipping in and out of sleep for hours because Dad isn’t home. I’ve left my window open so I can hear him come in.

He’s at his work Christmas party. It had been a good year for the business, so Rod and Shelley Barnes put a big tab on at the Bowls Club for all the workers. Dad and Barnesy have been friends since school but they don’t hang out so much anymore. Dad thinks Barnsey ‘goes a bit hard on the turps’, but tonight Dad promised him he’d match him drink for drink, like the old days.

I peel open my venetian blinds and look out to the road. It’s hazy from the dim streetlights but I can see Dad through the fig tree: he’s resting back on the front fence, facing the road. He’s whispering to someone. Then I see Shelley’s face poke out.

‘Shhhhh.’ Dad’s puts a finger on her lips. He touches her cheek softly and she winces.

‘Don’t worry about that anymore,’ Dad says. ‘You shouldn’t put up with this, Shel. You have to leave. I’ll be here for you. Okay?’ Dad pulls her into a hug. He rests his chin on top of her head. I think he might collapse on her. He clearly can’t see straight and he needs to sleep. Maybe he’s so drunk he thinks he’s talking to Mum right now.

I roll out of bed and tiptoe across the floorboards to Mum and Dad’s room at the end of the hallway. I knock then push the door open.

‘Mum.’

‘What is it?’ she mumbles, half asleep.

‘Dad’s back.’

‘That’s good. Did he have fun?’

‘I don’t think so. He looks really sick. He’s out the front with Shelley.’

‘With Shelley?’ Mum’s back snaps up straight and she pulls the covers off. She kicks into her slippers and clomps down the hallway in her pyjamas. I follow her but she stops and turns back to me.

‘Ben, stay in your room and go to sleep. It’s late.’

I bound back onto my bed and peer through the blinds again. I hear Mum unlatch the door. Dad and Shelley are pressed up against the fence, gnawing on each other’s mouths with their eyes closed.

‘You awful, awful people!’ Mum howls.

Their mouths unstick.

‘Get away from my house,’ she shouts.

The dog next door barks, setting off a domino chain of dog yelps across the block.

‘Don’t you dare try to get back in here tonight, Stephen. Don’t fucking try it.’

It’s the first time I’ve heard her swear. I drop to my bed and play dead. The door closes and Mum whimpers up the hallway.

I dip in and out of sleep for the rest of the night, trying to figure out what’s real and what’s a nightmare.

Mum’s sobbing doesn’t leave my ears, even when she finally finds sleep.