I woke the next morning, with a pounding hangover, to the sound of someone walking around inside my house. I listened through a haze of pain to the clatter of pans in the kitchen, the inside of my mouth feeling as rough and dry as a lizard’s scales.

I started to remember what had happened after I followed Yuichi back into town. I had kept hold of his home-brewed whisky, draining the rest of it as I followed behind his motorbike in my jeep. How the hell I ever made it back into town without smashing it beyond repair was beyond me. Mostly I remembered tumbling out of it before making my way inside the Hotel du Mauna Loa, where Wallace Deans sat alone, his table crammed with empty glasses. I recalled how he had watched in silence while I got behind the deserted bar and poked around for something else to drink.

I had stopped on my way back out, a half-bottle of some brown liquid cradled in my arms like a baby, looked over at Wallace and said, ‘Fuck you.’

Wallace had just raised a glass in my direction. ‘And fuck you too,’ he responded with apparent relish, as I stumbled back out.

I came downstairs to find Rozalia sitting on a kitchen stool, about to work the plunger on my cafetière. From the look on her face when she turned to see me, I sensed I was not the only one who had drunk themselves to sleep.

‘So,’ she said, nodding around the room with a flick of her head. ‘How are you settling into the new place?’

‘It’s okay. Still need to do a little more redecorating.’

‘Previous owner’s taste in home decor an issue?’

‘Fake tigerskin rugs. Miniature Grecian statues on plinths. I hid it all in the back of a shed where I couldn’t see it.’ I stepped towards her. ‘Rozalia . . .’

‘Sit down,’ she ordered, pushing the plunger on the cafetière all the way down. Her voice sounded raw and strained. ‘You want eggs?’

I stared at her, unsure what to say or do.

‘I said,’ she repeated, anger edging into her voice, ‘Do. You. Want. Eggs?’

I reached for a glass of water already sitting on the countertop and drained it. ‘Sure,’ I said, wiping my mouth before refilling the glass.

Rozalia nodded and pulled a pan from a hook, slamming it onto the hob with undue force before switching on the gas bottle beneath the hob. She broke six eggs against the side of the pan with the air of an executioner dispatching victims, then swirled them around the pan, staring at them as they sizzled. I got hold of a mug and filled it with coffee, shivering and coughing at the first sip as I took a seat. Clearly she liked it a lot stronger than I did.