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pagan.”
    “Oh, Jose. Couldn’t you just have lied and told him you pray for your poor mother, or something?”
    “Lie to a priest. Sure, Mum.”
    She grabbed the bread-roll from me and I watched her butter it, noticing her hands trembling.
    “Something’s worrying you. I can tell.”
    “I’m getting old.” She shrugged dramatically.
    “You only say that to cover some horrible truth,” I said.
    “Really?”
    “And truly.”
    She leaned forward and tucked a piece of hair behind my ear.
    “How would you like to go away for Easter? Just the two of us. Cairns or someplace.”
    I don’t know why I got scared then. Something had to be wrong for her to suggest that. I had begged for a holiday for years. There had always been some excuse.
    “I don’t want to go anywhere at all for Easter,” I shouted at her.
    “Why are you shouting?”
    “Because.”
    “Great defense. I can see you in a courtroom one day, Jose,” she laughed. “I thought you’d
want
to go on holidays. Remember how you used to go on about trips when you were young?”
    “I’ve got homework to do,” I said, picking up my books.
    As I lay in bed that night, I tried to keep the worries about Mama at the back of my mind. I knew something was bothering her. She seemed upset and preoccupied. We’re pretty good that way. We tune into each other very well. Maybe because it’s always just been the two of us.
    Just lying there gave me an uneasy feeling. Nighttime scares me. I hate the complete silence of it, especially when I can’t sleep. I feel as if everyone could be dead and I would never find out until morning. When I was young I would stand by my mother’s door to make sure she was breathing. Sometimes now I pretend to get a glass of water and do the same.
    The worst thought struck me as I lay awake.
    I leapt out of bed and ran to her room, yanking open the door.
    “It’s cancer, isn’t it?”
    “What?”
she asked, sitting up in bed.
    “Don’t hide it from me, Mama. I’ll be strong for you.”
    I burst out crying then. I didn’t know what I would do without her.
    “Come here, you silly girl. I have
not
got cancer and I’m not dying,” she said.
    I threw myself on her bed and lay beside her.
    “Where do you get these silly ideas from?” she asked, kissing my brow.
    “Holidays at Easter.”
    “Whatever happened to those great speeches after watching
Lost in Space
? If Will Robinson’s father could take him to space, I could take you on a short holiday.”
    “I was young and foolish then. Anyway, his dumb father never did find Alpha Centauri and they’re still floating around because they can’t find Earth.”
    “Well, I do not have cancer.”
    “You’ve been staring all evening and your attitude has been weird. It’s something terrible, isn’t it?”
    She shrugged and looked away and then glanced up at me again with a sigh.
    “Your grandmother went to the Fiorentino wedding.”
    “Yeah, I heard the bride wore a pink dress and now everyone is going on about how she wasn’t a virgin.”
    She laughed and then sobered up quickly.
    “The groom’s cousin is Michael Andretti. He and his sister’s family were at your grandmother’s.”
    I was shocked. Dumbfounded. My mother had told me about him once and once only. I’d never heard his name mentioned since. Just “your father” or “he.”
    But for her to actually see him and worse, for him to actually exist, was mind-boggling. Sometimes I think he is a myth. My mother told absolutely nobody except me. As far as the world is concerned, Michael Andretti was just the guy next door.
    But for him to be a myth means that I’m a figment of the imagination.
    I touched Mama’s hand.
    “How did it feel? To see him, I mean. Did you hate him? Love him? Anything?”
    “Nothing.”
    “Nothing?”
    “No . . . that’s a lie.” She sighed, lying on her back and looking at the ceiling. “I did hate him sometimes. When he was in Adelaide I could forget he existed. But now . .