I thought about that for a second. It made sense. I didn’t know a lot about counterfeit bank notes but I assumed there was some microscopic signifier somewhere, a serial number or something. I have since looked this up and I was, indeed, correct.

‘This isn’t particularly fancy or valuable,’ I said as I rolled it between my fingertips. I could see it better now my eyes had adjusted. ‘It looks the same as the ones in my Year 12 science labs. You could get one of these anywhere. But you’re right about Alan’s job. This was probably his, and Michael took it off him.’

‘So maybe Alan brought this to check Michael’s money and it wasn’t up to scratch? And that’s why they fought?’

‘I’ve been wondering how Michael got his hands on $267,000 without Lucy finding out about it,’ I confessed. ‘It’s a lot of money. Even Marcelo didn’t know about it. Or you, for that matter, and I wouldn’t be surprised if Michael asked you to find it just to see if it was still there.’

‘But if he already knew the money was fake, why would he need to check it?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘What if it’s the other way around?’ she suggested. ‘Alan brought the money and Michael wasn’t happy.’

I let the idea seed. Michael had been clear that he was buying something from Alan. Was that the truth? What would Michael possibly have to sell? ‘If the money’s useless, useless enough to kill over anyway, why keep it?’

‘You’ve spent some,’ she offered. It wasn’t a question.

‘A little. I had no problems.’

‘Just because it’s fake doesn’t mean it’s worthless. Or maybe it’s marked – you know, how the police mark bills and all that?’

‘Maybe.’ I was missing something, but I wasn’t sure what it was. My intuition told me that one of Erin’s theories, something she’d said, was nudging close to the truth. But I didn’t know enough to unlock it. Michael had told me the problem was that he didn’t have enough, so I thought it was unlikely the money was fake.

We ran out of theories and dipped back into silence. The submarine of our chalet felt like it sank another hundred metres, groaning. It seemed for a time that Erin might have fallen asleep. Then the pale orb of her face appeared above me, leaning over the loft.

‘Is it worth me saying I’m sorry?’ she asked.

‘For which part?’

‘All of it, I suppose.’

There is some metaphor to be found in her voice, wafting down to me, while I lay on my back and spoke to the stars, but I don’t know what it is.

‘Okay.’

‘Just okay?’