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she'd left all those miles back. It could have been about her family, her friends, or it could have been about a boy. It was autobiographical, so you can tell where I got my influence from.
    The neighbours came out and listened, my Dad had his eyes closed and head tipped down, so I wasn't sure if he even heard the words or not. It didn't matter, I'd sung it to him. That was all that counted in the end. When I finished I went on to some covers, because the oldies in the council flats next door needed to hear something they recognised. Willie Nelson's Always on my Mind , Waylon Jennings' I've Always Been Crazy and a little Kenny Rogers, because every oldie loves them some Kenny. My personal favourite, The Gambler .
    It was at the end of this impromptu solo concert in the backyard of Dad's council flat, five other council flats bordering onto the same broken fenced, dirt patched, lawn, that my cousins decided to visit. They would have heard the last few lines of The Gambler , they would have listened to the oldies cheering and clapping for more. They would have spotted Dad in his wheelchair, soaking up the sun, resting his chin down on his chest.
    They didn't give a toss. All five of them stomped in, kicked over some carefully placed boxes of crap around the side of the flat - making at least another hour's worth of clean-up for me - laughing their heads off at the "country-bumpkin too big for her cowgirl boots and her expensive-arse guitar."
    My immediate thought was they were going to beat the shit out of me. That's what they'd done when I was a kid, when they'd find me down in the far corner of the Reserve near our homes, strumming my third- or fourth-hand guitar to the birds in the trees. My next was they were going to scare the living daylights out of the oldies, causing a few minor heart attacks along the way, but the oldies scattered in the wind, having obviously borne witness to the Russell boys' visits before. My third and final thought before they made it fully into the backyard, taking up every available inch of space, dwarfing my Dad and me as we sat in the centre of the yard - Dad in his wheelchair and me on a stool from the kitchen - was they were going to hurt my Dad. He was in enough pain without having to face off against Aunty Jessie's ill-mannered, sloth-like, trailer-trash brutes of sons.
    I stood up, swinging my guitar behind my shoulder, so it hung down my back and started to manoeuvre Dad's chair towards the door of the flat.
    "Not so fast, Hoity-Toity," Levi shouted from the front of the group. He'd always been the ring-leader, never got his hands dirty, but sure as darn hell told the others what to do.
    "Levi," I said uncertainly. "What ya doing here?"
    "Come to see what Mum's been fussing about. Said you'd blown into town to get your stinking hands on his money." His head cocked towards Dad on those last few words.
    "Dad doesn't have any money, Levi. If he did, do you think he'd be living in a council flat?" I couldn't help it, Levi always made me feisty as all get-out.
    "Still too big for your fucking boots, ain't ya," Tyler snarled from behind his bigger brother's shoulders. Not that any of the Russell boys were small, they all ate their fair share of Auckland's fast food chains' menus. But Levi was the biggest and nastiest of the lot.
    No matter what anyone says, I always feel like you've got to keep your eye on the one without the bloody knuckles. At least with the others, you know what to expect, with Levi it was always a game of chance. Dependent on his mood.
    "So, ya write ya will out to her, Uncle Ray?" Levi asked my Dad, who had woken up with all the fuss and the movement of his chair.
    "You boys go home now, you hear?" Dad said and for a moment I wanted to believe he was saying it for me. To be the father that he had never been. To protect me from the bullies in the world.
    But I knew it wasn't. He didn't want Aunty Jessie knowing all his money was going to Gabe. He wanted her to keep visiting