I rolled down the window and looked out at the gloomy block of apartments.
‘Is this really the place?’ I asked my driver.
‘Sure man, this is the address you gave me,’ he shrugged, slapping the button on the meter. ‘That’ll be forty-five-fifty.’
‘Right,’ I nodded, scooting forward so I could pull my wallet out of my back pocket. ‘I’m here to see my brother, you know.’
He nodded politely, focused on my slowly-opening wallet.
‘He has an intellectual disability,’ I sighed, examining what notes I had tucked in the back of the leather. ‘He was living with my mum, until quite recently.’
‘Oh?’ the cabbie smiled thinly. ‘Well, good to get your own place.’
‘She died,’ I said quietly, handing him two twenties.
‘Ah,’ he grimaced, slowly closing his fingers around the money. ‘Sorry.’
‘No, it’s okay,’ I said. ‘She was very old, and very happy.’
‘He’s, uh… he’s got a good place at least?’
‘He’s actually moving into a better one,’ I said, looking out the window at the cracked apartment block. ‘We figured out some SDA housing close to Adelaide that should be a good fit for him, long-term.’
‘Oh thank god,’ the cabbie sighed. ‘That place looks terrible.’
‘Yeah, it’s not great,’ I agreed with a slight chuckle. ‘I think he’ll be happier somewhere closer to me.’
‘Why?’
‘What’s that?’ I asked, turning back to him with a slight frown.
‘Why do you think that?’ he asked me. ‘Has he told you that?’
‘Told me…’ I stammered. ‘I–I guess… I’ve just been chatting to his NDIS provider, located in the Adelaide area, more than anyone.’
‘So you haven’t asked your brother what he wants?’
‘I haven’t had a chance,’ I protested weakly.
We sat in silence for a sec, the cabbie nodding.
‘Well,’ he eventually said. ‘You have a chance now. Go in there, and be his advocate. Do what’s best for him.’
He held out his hand, palm up. I nodded slowly, then shook it.
‘Thank you,’ I whispered.
‘No, moron,’ he whipped his hand back, snapping it out again. ‘You still owe me five dollars and fifty cents.’
‘Oh, right,’ I said, scrambling for my wallet again.