Ralf felt his body grow tense. As casually as possible, he asked, “Does he work late on Saturdays?”

“Yeah, super late.”

“Wow. Until like midnight? Two in the morning?” ventured Ralf.

“He normally gets home around one.” She frowned at Ralf for a moment, as if she had just realized that his interest in her father’s schedule was a little strange. But then she turned to Floris, who flipped open a pack of Marlboros and offered them around. Naomi declined, as did Ralf.

“Do they fight a lot, your parents?” asked Naomi.

“Not really.” Sara put the cigarette between her lips and held it in the flame of Floris’s lighter. “Mostly, they just don’t talk to each other. My father sleeps in the guest room a lot.”

“So does mine. Or he stays on the boat,” said Floris.

Ralf dug his phone out of his coat pocket. He quickly tapped out a message.

Are you at home? I need something.

He held the device in his hand and pretended to be interested in the shop window. Did you really just do that, Venema? Are you in your right mind?

“Anyway,” said Sara, “that means my mother might be at home tonight.”

Naomi’s eyes widened. “You can’t be serious.”

“There’s not much I can do about it, is there?”

“It’s still only the afternoon. We might be OK.” Floris threw his head back and puffed out a succession of smoke rings. He was wearing Porsche sunglasses, Ralf noticed. Ralf had on a pair of his own, but they were Ray-Bans. And fake.

Ralf reflected that his own parents had probably never heard of Moncler, and they thought Porsche only made cars. But they slept in the same bed under their Ikea duvet, and they never argued. And he had seen them kissing far more often than he would have liked. Suddenly, it struck him: Was that it, then? Was that how it worked? You can have a swimming pool and a Mercedes, but an awful marriage.

Ralf’s phone buzzed. He looked at the screen.

I am now, but leaving soon. Back Sunday.

Sara looked at her reflection in the window and freshened up her lipstick. “It’s so annoying.”

“We can’t go to my house tonight either,” said Naomi. She sought Ralf’s eyes. “What about your place?”

He shook his head absently and tapped out a response:

I’m on my way. Wait for me. It’s important.

“Should we go for a drink?” Sara put her lipstick back in her bag and pointed to a large café on the other side of the promenade.

“Sorry, guys, I can’t,” blurted Ralf. “I have to go.”

Naomi looked at him in surprise. “Huh? Already? Aren’t we supposed to be going shopping?”