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‘Heard you the first time,’ the man growled. ‘Dying, not deaf.’

‘Sorry.’

‘It’s okay, mate,’ Jonesy replied, finally turning to look at him. ‘I just don’t feel ready to go, but it seems upstairs has other plans,’ he quipped and smiled without mirth. ‘Glad you pulled through.’

‘Thanks. I have no idea where I’ve been for a week.’

‘They were pretty worried about you. Some bloke called Bill visited and told Sister that he thought you’d lost the will to live.’

Tom shook his head. ‘No, I lost a good man – a young one – to an accident in the shearing shed.’

‘So I heard. Took you bad.’

Tom nodded. ‘I don’t know how to do anything else but wool classing, and yet I don’t feel like going back. I had to ring his brother and then write to his mother.’

Jonesy sighed. ‘Yeah. You don’t realise life is precious until it’s gone . . . or going. Did he have a large family?’

Tom nodded. ‘Three brothers and a sister, as I understand.’

‘Ah well, that mother of his, she’s got family to love and be loved by. Tougher when it’s an only child.’

Tom grinned bleakly. ‘Like me.’

‘I knew your father, you know.’

That caught Tom’s attention. Until now he’d been making conversation because he thought the nursing team would appreciate him chatting to the older man, but Jonesy’s comment made him sit straighter. ‘You did?’

‘Used to drove with him, until my lungs stopped working. He’s gone now though, right?’

Tom nodded. ‘Died twelve years back.’

‘He was a good man, your dad was.’

‘Not much of a father, as it turns out,’ Tom remarked, more to himself.

Again his companion proved he was not deaf. ‘I suppose if you walked in his shoes, you couldn’t blame him.’

Tom wished he could shake how gloomy he felt. ‘I do blame him, though. We only had each other but we became like strangers after my mother died.’

‘No, I mean you can’t blame him because he wasn’t your father, was he?’ But it wasn’t posed as a question. As far as Jonesy was concerned, he was stating a known fact.

Tom blinked at his companion. ‘What are you talking about?’

Jonesy shrugged. ‘Sorry, mate, didn’t mean to shock you. I thought you’d know.’

‘Wait! No, that’s not right. I don’t think we’re talking about the same man. My father was—’

‘Vern Catchlove, yep, I know. I met you when you were a young tacker. Met your mother too. Now, she really was a sight for sore eyes. Vern certainly got lucky there.’

Tom felt momentarily lost. Either an insistent whistle was being blown somewhere or it was an alarm deep inside . . . he could hear it, shrill and distressing. He didn’t know how to respond.

‘I thought he would have told you. He should have, if he didn’t.’

Tom slowly put his feet on the floor and moved until he was sitting on the edge of the bed. He shook his head slowly. ‘Why would he have told you?’

‘I dunno, mate. Men talk. Especially when you’re far from home and in the middle of nowhere. And Vern liked a drink. He only mentioned it once, as I recall.’

‘Jonesy, tell me what you know.’ Tom stood with difficulty and padded over to his companion’s cot. The dizziness loosened his resolve momentarily, but he held on, grabbing the side of Jonesy’s iron bedstead before he reached for another chair and sat next to the older man. He wanted to look him square in the eye.