He nods. ‘My dad liked to tell me he’d rather kill me than let my mother have me. Cos, y’know, he’s the only one who can make the rules. Now that’s righteous.’
He gives me a twisted half-smile. I can only shake my head at the horror of it.
He goes on. ‘And the other thing with drugs is, whatever your drug of choice, if you really get into it hard, ultimately it’s gonna kill you. My dad’s already said he’d be happy to kill me. Why would I wanna get addicted to something? I’d just be doing his hard work for him.’
The drive home feels long, and the whole way there my mind churns over what Harris said. The way he said it, so matter-of-factly. When I drag my suitcase into the kitchen and find Dad home, it’s a relief to have someone I can talk to about it.
‘Nobody should ever feel like that,’ Dad says. I can tell from the way he’s wiping his spanner so meticulously with the oil rag that he’s seething. ‘Nobody should ever feel like they’re not safe with the people who’re supposed to take care of them. Your parents are supposed to support you, be there for you –’
‘I think it’s been a long time since Harris felt safe with anyone.’ I sit on the wooden steps below the kitchen back door, squeezing my forehead. The fluoro light above the steps is softly buzzing. ‘Should we really be asking him to do this, Dad? I know he volunteered, but he’s already been through so much…’
‘Should we be worried, d’you mean?’ Dad places the spanner carefully back in its spot on the pegboard near the wall. ‘About whether he can hold it together? Do you think he’s pushing himself too far?’
‘I’m worried he’s tempted,’ I admit. ‘I’m worried he’s exposed to stuff up there that will change his mind about what he needs to get by.’
I’ve explained Harris’s theory of addiction to my dad already, and now he sighs.
‘There’s another reason why people get high, Amie. It’s because for some people, their lives are so awful they don’t want to think about it. Some of them don’t want to exist anymore. So they’re going into it because it’s an escape.’ He wipes grease off his hands with the rag. ‘Do you think Harris is like that? D’you think he feels he’s got nothing to live for?’
I hug my windbreaker around myself with both arms. ‘He has something – his mum and his sister. He’s excited that you’ve offered to help find them. But he’s scared about meeting them again, too. I just hope his bad opinion of himself doesn’t push him into doing something stupid.’
Dad frowns. ‘I guess Harris is vulnerable, yeah. But he’s toughed it out most of his life, and he’s toughing it out okay so far in Mildura. Next time you speak to him, though, remind him he can pull the pin any time. That’s what I said, right from the start.’
The reminder that Harris has an ‘out’ if he needs one makes me feel slightly better – but only slightly. ‘God, Dad, how do you deal with this stuff all the time? It was easy when I was just handling Harris’s medical treatment, but this is…’
Dad walks closer, squats down in front of me and puts a hand on my shoulder. ‘You’re listening to him. That’s important. But it’s difficult to just listen and not do something.’
‘Yes.’
‘And the external stuff is easier than the emotional stuff.’
I nod, feeling too emotional to answer.
‘That’s the way it is, love. And mostly, it’s only the external part of the equation we can really do something about. I can try to find his family, sure. But what Harris is feeling, how he works it out for himself… That’s kind of his show.’
‘He’s fighting,’ I say. ‘I believe he’s fighting. I just wish I could do more to help.’
‘You’re supporting him, Ames.’ Dad gives my shoulder a squeeze. ‘You’re doing everything you can. Just remember, it’s not a battle you can fight for him.’
