Anne Brisden

You ask her to come out here and talk to me.

She's my wife and they're my boys.

You told me on the phone if I went on a program, you'd give me another chance.

Well, I did.

Read it, Carol.

Read it.

I've got something to say, Martha.

To all of you.

I did have plenty to say.

I just couldn't remember what it was right then.

I shook my head, trying to loosen the thought.

But it wouldn't come.

If I'd had a dollar for every time Carol had threatened to leave, I'd be the richest black fella in the country.

Richer even than those boys working on the oil rigs off the coast up north.

But this time I could feel the pain deep in my gut.

I got back in the car and drove off.

At home, I went through the medicine cupboard again and grabbed hold of all the pills I could find.

Sleeping tablets, antidepressants, painkillers, a few vitamins.

I shoved them all in my gob, stuck my head under the tap and drank until I'd swallowed the lot.

Rifling through the refrigerator, I found a lonely can of beer at the bottom of the empty vegetable tray.