He would sit on the couch and make a mess, he would eat his meals and make a mess, he would use the bathroom and make a mess. He filled ashtray after ashtray. And she cleaned up after him — the couch, the kitchen, the shower, the disgusting toilet. Her life was busted, but she didn’t need to live in a pigsty; and besides, cleaning was easy for the automaton niece: the muscles moved, the mind was motionless.

She tried to work, but she had no heart for work, and anyway, whenever she settled at her desk he seemed to want more tea, more cake, more heat, more cool, more cigarettes. The automaton niece always responded.

About a month after Mikhail moved in, she met Andrew for coffee. She had put him off several times, but could do so no longer. She had no idea how she would manage to be her usual self, but when she saw him, already seated at a table, a smile entering his face at the sight of her, she was rushed with a sense of familiarity, of blessed normality. Immediately they fell into their usual chatter. It was such a relief being with him, and she wondered if, with his help, she might manage Mikhail and reclaim some of her old life. It was a brief moment of optimism. Andrew was attempting to make future engagements with her: a movie, a drive to an old homestead recently opened to the public, even the High Country holiday, and suddenly she felt caught. She declined all his suggestions. Not now, not now, she said, wrenching the conversation back to his project for Parks and Gardens, his parents, his dog, his days.

These difficulties notwithstanding, the hour spent with Andrew restored a little of her lost self. She’d had a life, and it was gone. She’d had a future, and it was stalled. Mikhail could live for another twenty years; unless she acted to change the current situation, she’d be resuming life as a fifty-year-old. She needed to give Mikhail a life, so she could reclaim hers. As a starting point, she needed to get him out of the house, and then she might be able to send him on sightseeing daytrips, introduce him to some of the community groups for seniors, find him some friends, shift him.

So she planned an excursion. With so much resting on this outing, the destination was all-important. She considered and dismissed several options. Then it came to her: the food hall at the Myer Emporium. Together with the TV and smoking, eating was Mikhail’s favourite activity; he would enjoy the beautiful displays and the huge variety of foods. They would take the tram, they would stroll through the food hall, and they would buy their dinner there. It was perfect.