"I'll kill him!" Kathy paced the lounge room, her ears pricked for the first sound of a car. She couldn't settle now; she'd gone through the routine of trying to ignore the clock ticking the night away, gone through trying to sleep to avoid the anxiety that built up with every minute he wasn't home, safe.

He knew how much he upset her by staying out this late, with not even a text message to say he was still alive. Only another mother could appreciate the agony she put herself through, when her ingrate son played these games. "Where did I go wrong?" she muttered as she headed for the kitchen. She leaned against the sink, heaving a sigh. She picked up the kettle to fill it, and turned the tap on too quickly, spurting water all down her arms and front. "Shit," she gasped, wiping herself down. She switched the kettle on, paced around the room tidying up this and that, then lined up the fridge magnets, stopping short at colour coding them.

A car turned into the driveway. Kathy stopped her pacing and held her breath. Robert's voice yelled out, "See ya later, Bazza." A car door slammed and then the squeal of tyres told her that Bazza was off to other places. He would sleep tomorrow (that is, today) away. Not so her son, she determined. She had chores for him to complete, tired and hung-over or not!

She turned to the kitchen door as he noisily fumbled with his house key, crossed her arms and wondered what was about to come out of her mouth. She would try to keep it low key, but who could tell? In the heat of the moment she would probably tell him to pack his bags.

Her son stepped into the room and stopped dead when he saw her. "Mum, what are you doing up? It's two o'clock," he said, eyeing the wall clock behind her head. "Thought you'd be asleep," he mumbled.

"I'm well aware of the time, Robert," Kathy emphasized. "Of course, that's, what, er," — she held up her fingers and began to count — "one, two, three, yes, that's right, three hours later than the time you said you would be home."

Robert rolled his eyes and whined, "Here we go again: nag, nag, nag." He sauntered over to the fridge and opened the door, peering at its contents.

Kathy rose to the bait. "Nag, is it? Do you ever, Robert, ever stop to think what it's like for me? Wondering where you are, if you're safe, if you're bloody well dead! I mean," — she waved her arm at him as he peeled the lid off a tub of yoghurt — "why give me a time if you're not going to stick to it?"

"Because, Mum, because you expect me to, and sometimes I can make it. Just tonight I couldn't, that's all." He smiled as he thought of the girl he'd been with.

"Don't smirk at me, Robert." Kathy misinterpreted — that look was the giddy limit! "I can't deal with it any more. This is my home and, as long as you remain here, you'll bloody well stick to my rules. And saying one thing and doing another isn't one of them! Do you hear me?" She was about to storm out of the room but stopped herself. No, she wouldn't make a grand exit, not this time. Something had to change. She was so very tired of this scenario. "Come over here, Rob, sit down." Kathy beckoned as she sat at the table. "We need to get this sorted."

"You're bloody right we do," Robert said, plonking himself onto a chair. He was sick of this too. Whenever he came home he felt a wave of guilt come over him, even if he wasn't very late. He didn't like doing this to his mum but, after all, he was nineteen now — a grown man. And he had his rights too.

"Rob," Kathy started, taking a deep breath. "I love you to bits, you know that."

Robert was about to say "A funny way of showing it", but he bit his tongue. Being an adult, he should hear her out without causing a stir. "Yeah, I know, Mum."

"I love you and don't ever want anything to happen to you. So when you do this, I can't help but worry. Truly," her voice wavered, "if anything did happen ... um ... it would just be so awful!" Tears ran down her cheeks and she turned her head away.

Bloody hell, Robert cursed inwardly, the guilt coursing through him yet again. "Yes, but that's not the point, Mum. The point is: I need my freedom, to come and go as I please. I'm not a kid anymore." They sat looking at each other, both aware of the impasse they had reached. Neither was going to give in to the other's needs as long as they remained together. Robert bit the bullet. "Maybe it's time for me to find a place to live, to move out. What do you reckon?" He softened the blow by reaching over and covering her hand with his. There was a pregnant pause.

Kathy swallowed and stared over his head. She felt sad but knew he was right. They were getting nowhere as things stood. The last few years, as Robert grew into a man, she had slowly lost control over him. Not that it was a bad thing, she realised, but one that was difficult to accept. After all, for years she'd had to control his behaviour, had to teach him right from wrong to ensure he grew into a responsible adult! But now, he had his own rules that were totally at odds to the ones she still expected him to keep. It wouldn't change either, would probably only get worse. So, yes, he should leave. A tear slid down her cheek as she prepared to move the goal posts.

"Alright, love. Let's talk more in the morning. I'm tired," she trailed off.

"Sure, Mum. Me too." Robert stood, and patted Kathy on the head as he walked past her to his bedroom.

"Cheeky!" She chuckled, suddenly feeling relief that these late-night vigils were over. "Love you, boy," she added as his bedroom door closed.

* * *

Next door, John dropped back the curtain then returned to bed. Bazza's tail-lights disappeared into the distance, along with the noisy engine that had woken him. He cursed the fact that now he would lie awake until dawn. Sleep was an elusive commodity. Ever since retirement, he'd had difficulty getting enough. When he'd worked at the garden centre, he'd started at sun-up and often went home in the dark. He would fall into bed and hardly move all night. But now, insomnia was a curse.

John Lambour knew most of Smith Street's residents' nightly habits. He knew his neighbour, Kathy, waited up for hours until that good-for-nothing son of hers got home. He has no right to worry her like that, John thought. Nor keep company with such yobbos. That mate of his is a shifty character. He pulled the blankets higher up his chin. It always got colder in the wee hours.

Then there was old Helen Beazley further down the road. He bet she was up making cocoa right now. He smiled in the dark — what a joke — they were the same age, which made him old too. Well, he was, he supposed — old enough to remember this area being quite different to now. For years his was one of very few houses in this street. His mind wandered to his younger days, then to snippets of his adult life, his wonderful mother dying, his retirement, and now ...

* * *

Helen was indeed up making cocoa. Her arthritis was giving her merry hell. She had forgotten to get her anti-inflammatory tablets from the chemist. Tomorrow she'd go back to town for them. That is, today, she thought as she glanced up at the sleeping cuckoo clock. Nearly three o'clock. The dawn chorus would start in about an hour. It amused her how the birds would...