‘Do you think I’m soft? I’ll have you know I was born and raised in Gauteng, china,’ she’d teased in a rough Joburg accent.

He’d held up his hands. ‘No, no. It’s just that… you just didn’t seem… troubled.’

She’d smirked. It was invigorating, a new relationship. Vincent knew nothing about her – she could paint herself in any way she wanted.

‘So do you know what he does?’ Helena called through to the kitchen, where Petra was spooning coffee into the cheap plunger. The mesh filter was bent and it let half the grounds through, no matter how slowly you pressed it. As always, she spent some time trying to straighten it, made it worse and pricked her thumb. Next time, she promised herself – as always – she’d go to the supermarket and get a new one for six quid. Surprise her mother.

‘Does? What do you mean? As a job? Are you checking if he’s marriage potential?’

‘The day will come, darling, when you’ll ask me that and I won’t laugh it off.’ Helena came to lurk at the kitchen jamb. ‘I’m not going to be around forever.’

‘Jee-zuz, Mom. So I need to get a man in place to look after me after you’ve shuffled off, is that right?’ She immediately regretted it, even though this was a tone they could take with each other.

Helena shrugged.

‘It worked well for you, hey?’

Helena smirked. ‘Fair point.’

‘Besides…’ Petra was going to say something jokey, like You’re going to be around forever, but it seemed inauspicious, somehow, in the week her mother had had surgery, no matter how minor. She poured the boiled water, giving the sentence enough time to die a natural death. ‘How’re you feeling?’

‘Fine. So?’

‘So what?’

‘What does he do? This lovely man of yours?’

‘Is that a tone I detect, Mom?’

‘Tone? Me? What would I intone about?’

‘I know what you’re thinking.’

Helena laughed. ‘Tell me.’

‘“You always think you’re in love and you never are. Remember Martin, remember Clint, remember Devin…” Blah blah blah.’

Helena squeezed Petra’s forearm. ‘I’d never think such a mean thing about you, my love.’

Petra spun around and folded her arms with an exasperated puff. ‘I’ve heard it all already from Suki. I don’t see the need to justify my feelings.’

‘Okay, my darling. I didn’t ask you to.’

‘I feel what I feel and I’d rather give good emotions the benefit of the doubt that be an untrusting, closed-hearted… hermit all my life. Okay?’ Just because relationships hadn’t worked out in the past, didn’t mean she should stop hoping, stop seeing the potential in other people, trusting her gut. Come to it, she was bloody proud of herself for still being able to feel, with Rod and Helena as her relationship role models and her disappointing track record. She’d got that off her chest.

‘Good, Petra. Tell me: what does he do?’

She breathed it out and turned back to her mother. ‘A lot of things. He’s an artist at heart – he takes beautiful photos. All night-light and dank puddles and raindrops and reflections. But needless to say, his art doesn’t pay the rent. He used to work as a sound engineer at his granddad’s studio, but he died and they’ve just sold up. Now he does whatever. At the moment, he’s helping dismantle the studio. He said he got close to a level II electrical certification.’