‘You see her, yeah?’

‘Who?’

‘There, Petra. Please.’ He pointed to the smudges.

‘Christ, Vincent, stop flicking through the bloody pictures. I don’t know what I’m supposed to be looking at.’ This was ridiculous. She took a deep breath, tried to reset. ‘I haven’t seen you for days.’ She reached out for his hand, touched it softly. ‘Can we start at the beginning?’

She took another deep breath, offered him a tired, worried smile, and to her relief he mirrored her, breathing in and raking his hands through his hair. ‘Yeah, sorry. You’re right. I’m sorry. I guess I have a lot to apologise for.’

‘Just tell me what’s going on. Are you okay? That’s all I wanted to know.’

Vincent stood up and turned on the strip light, looked around him as if noticing the mess in the kitchen for the first time. He muttered something under his breath and found a glass in the cupboard. ‘Would you like something to drink?’

‘No, I’m good.’

He filled the glass with water and downed it, still staring around the kitchen as if he’d just woken up on a strange planet.

Petra stood and went to the sink, running her hand down Vincent’s back as she passed. She cleared space on the draining board and started removing the dishes from the sink, scraping their contents together.

‘Stop that, please,’ he said. ‘I’ll do it.’

‘If you can just pull out that trash bag and find a new one, that’ll help,’ she said.

He looked at her for minute, then went to a drawer and found a roll of bin liners. He changed the bin bag and started tidying the mess on the table and countertops as Petra started on the dishes.

‘Who’s your friend, Vincent?’ A tall woman with luxuriant grey braids had appeared in the kitchen doorway. She was wearing a bright skirt and a smart patterned blouse whose elegance was diluted by a loose knitted cardigan coat, which she drew around her when she noticed Petra standing there. She walked over with a deliberate stride that just failed to disguise the hitch of a limp, and extended her hand. Her smile was warm and generous, even in her drawn face. ‘Hello there. I’m Gloria.’ She could tell where Vincent had inherited that warm and open countenance.

Petra wiped her hands on a dishtowel and took the woman’s hand. ‘Petra. I’m really pleased to meet you.’ She was going to add Vincent’s told me a lot about you, but he hadn’t, not really.

‘Lord, I’m sorry,’ Gloria said. ‘He invites you to our home and makes you do the dishes.’

‘Nan, please,’ Vincent grizzled, and he instantly became the boy this woman had raised. It was as if thirty years had vanished. ‘You should go back to bed.’

Gloria rolled her eyes and Petra laughed. ‘He didn’t make me. I’m just glad to make myself useful.’

‘That makes two of us,’ Gloria said. ‘Vinnie likes to coddle me, but I’m not dying.’