After lunch in the department-store cafeteria, they went to a film, but not one of his choosing, for his mother had already booked the tickets. Going to the movie was his birthday outing treat, and the school clothes, a five-dollar note and new pencil box were his gifts.

The rest of the weekend seemed interminable, just more whispered conversations which changed to facile general chat when he brought in fresh pots of tea. He gathered that some sort of legal custody action was being planned, but his mother didn’t tell him any details. He was even relieved when Monday morning came and she left at the same time as Thelma.

No one answered his knocking when he went across to visit Angie at ten-thirty, although the door wasn’t locked. He put his head inside to investigate and saw that she was still half asleep.

‘Angie…hey, Ange, wake up! You’ll be late picking up your medicine at the hospital,’ he said, but she only muttered something about it being too late, that he should nick off and for God’s sake leave her alone, and slumbered on. The room was even more untidy than usual. Quietly, being careful not to disturb her, he filled in time by straightening up the kitchen section. He tackled the washing up and scrubbed a patina of grime from the little sink. Then he glanced uncertainly at Angie, who had slept through all the subdued clatter of things being made orderly. She looked ill, her eyes circled by dark rims like bruising, and apparently she hadn’t bothered to change into a nightgown, but had just tumbled fully clad into bed the previous night. He made coffee and took it to the bedside.

‘Come on, now, lazy,’ he coaxed. ‘You can’t stay in bed sleeping all day. How about what you told your mum, that you were going to look for a job?’

It took many persistent shakes, but finally Angie opened her eyes and sat up and glared at him. Groaning quietly, she sipped the coffee and lit a cigarette. The ashtray by the bed was choked with stubbed cigarettes and ash, so he emptied it into the kitchen rubbish bin and brought it back clean. Angie didn’t thank him or even seem to notice.

‘You could still make it out to the hospital if you get a move on,’ he said, for punctuality and routine had been instilled in him all his life by his mother and it made him edgy when people deviated from it. ‘You said you had to pick up that medicine every day, Angie.’ He paused and added, without looking at her, ‘What sort of stuff is it? What’s it for?’