‘What? ’ Elise said, ‘Me giving you a car I never use? And why am I giving you my car? Because yours was trashed. And why was it trashed? All due to me getting you to drive me and that distressed woman into the middle of anti-abortion madness. So why shouldn’t you take my car? … and my God, I am sounding professorial this morning.’

‘Okay,’ I said, ‘I’ll take your car.’

‘Thank you. That pleases me. Will you also have breakfast?’

‘I can make it myself.’

‘But it’s my home, my kitchen. And you are my guest. So …’

She motioned for me to sit down at the kitchen table. The television played on for a few minutes as the journalist covering the current demonstration asked one of the doctors at the clinic in Studio City if she thought she was putting her life on the line by coming into work. The doctor’s face tightened as she said:

‘We are putting women’s lives on the line by not coming in to perform what is still a legal procedure in our state, our country. But my two teenage children are now scared for my safety … and I am beginning to become so too.’

Elise reached for the remote control and clicked off the television, then leaned against the kitchen counter, her eyes shut.

‘Are you okay?’ I asked.

‘No,’ she said in a near whisper, ‘I am definitely not okay.’

Then, after a short pause, she asked:

‘Scrambled or sunny side up?’

I went for scrambled. Elise cracked and beat eggs. She made me two slices of toast. She poured out orange juice. She placed all this in front of me, nodding curtly when I thanked her. Then, telling me she ‘needed some time to sort out a few things’, she headed down the corridor toward her bedroom.

I ate the breakfast. I went back to the room where I’d slept. I showered and shaved and got into the clothes that Elise had washed and ironed for me. I started thinking about my next move. I texted Klara saying that we needed to talk. I got no reply from her. That bothered me. My daughter almost always shot back an immediate response to my texts. I felt the need for another cigarette. When I came back into the kitchen Elise was there. She had changed into a dark suit, a briefcase in hand.

‘Something’s come up,’ she said. ‘A business meeting in Mid-Wilshire.’

‘What’s in Mid-Wilshire?’

‘My late husband’s law firm. I have family business to discuss with them. I might be a good hour and a half. But as you deserve a day out after yesterday let me call an Uber.’

‘No way,’ I said.

We took her Volvo. It was smooth and sleek. It had kick-ass pickup. With all the windows closed and the air con cranked up the roar of Los Angeles seemed far away.