‘Sarah sent you?’ Mick is the last person in the universe I want for company. He is the kind of ignorant, self-confident bastard who can’t stick at anything, can’t finish anything, and yet talks like he is the only competent tool in the shed. And, worse, he never has any money. By comparison, I am a workaholic with a slush fund.

‘No.’

‘She okay?’

‘Within reason. Probably better than you. You’re a bit of a mess.’ He looks around as if he is thinking of buying my house. ‘This place is a bit of a mess.’

‘Thanks. I’m loving your company so far.’

He drags a large, soft overnight bag in through the doorway, and drops it on the floor.

‘I guess we’ll be doing some cleaning up together.’ I know Mick has never done any cleaning up in his life.

The box is still open on the kitchen island. Marooned again, in point of fact. He walks over to it, pries it open, and says, ‘God, you still buying that shit, are you?’

I put my glass down on the sideboard and look at him square on. ‘Mick, I don’t want company at the moment. I appreciate you coming, but it’s important I’m left on my own.’

‘Fine. I get it. I’ll stay a couple of nights, and get out of your hair.’ He pulls the parts out of the box. ‘Whoa. A jackhammer. What would you want with one of these things?’ He jiggles it at me.

I don’t want Mick around for even a day, but I guess he has driven up from the city, which is over four hours away. He’ll have to stay at least one night. And then my mushy brain remembers the money in the guest bathroom. Bloody hell. What made me put it there? I groan like I’m going to be sick, and make quickly for the bathroom — confident, but not certain, that he won’t follow me.

I take the garbage bags, jam them in the linen cupboard, go back to the bathroom, and flush the toilet, twice for authenticity.

When I return, Mick has taken a seat, his feet up, and says, ‘I thought you’d given up the piss?’

‘I have. Just fell off the wagon for one night.’

‘Yeah, right.’ He looks around the room again. ‘So, what’s on? What are we up to?’