It was usually between twelve and one but they liked people to stagger when they went so that there were always two people in the shop. They’d be counted as two in the shop but one when it came to lunch and on the roster, because they probably wanted to have lunch together and work together. Peggy and Greta nodded because they did. If they had to have a particular time for lunch, Dorrit said, maybe they had an appointment – they should let someone know first thing. There were some cafés around but it was always best to bring lunch. Peggy and Greta said they always did that. It was one of the things they’d learnt at rehab. Making lunch was cheaper, but the really important thing was that if they made it and put it in their bag when they left home they would always be close to something to eat. Alcohol had a lot of sugar in it and hunger could make you want to drink – it was important to have food close. They had both lost weight in the first months, and now they were putting it on again. They were probably fatter than they had been in their lives but it was a different type of fat – they’d been puffy when they arrived at rehab, and bloated. Theo, one of the guys at rehab, had pointed out that they had a beer pot. It probably wasn’t cute. He hadn’t said it to be mean. He’d said it in a sort of revelatory tone – like he was realising again that alcoholism had physical effects, like any other disease. His father was in meetings but they hadn’t seen Theo since they all got out of rehab. He was handsome and kind.

One Sunday afternoon at rehab, Peggy and Greta lay under a tree in the dappled sun and talked about how Theo was the kind of guy maybe they could go out with. Like, someone who was clean and trying to make a better life. Like maybe they could have a house, Greta had said. They’d dozed off a bit and both had the same dream. A single image – they were standing at a sink washing dishes, and above the sink was a window and above the window a concrete path at eye level and above the concrete path a deck and a large pōhutukawa tree. In the dream, they were struck with an overwhelming sense of contentment. Not joy or ecstasy, just the quiet weight of being where they said they’d be, doing what they said they’d be doing, when they said they’d be there. When they woke up they were in each other’s arms, smiling, the feeling lodged in them from the dream. When they told their counsellor, he said the image, the feeling, was something worth holding on to, so they did.