‘Hi,’ Peggy and Dell and Greta said, then it was silent for a moment, and they all looked out at the volleyball game. It was going okay. Some people were taking it a little too seriously. There might be a fight. It was weird seeing everyone trying so hard. Greta and Peggy knew one of the guys serving. He had been in a band, a good band, and then he’d taken all the band’s money – they’d been given a grant to make a music video and he’d emptied the bank account before they could make it and had pretty much injected it all into his arm. He was cool. And here he was, shirt off, tattoos out, serving the ball over-arm. It was all they had left. When they talked to him, he was all in. So committed it was terrifying.

Peggy and Greta were pretty sure the meetings and all this was a cult. When they raised this most people said, ‘Oh yeah, that’s what some people think.’ But when they talked to the band guy about the meetings it felt like it was a cult. He was about six months clean and sober and did everything like his life depended on it, because it did. All of their lives depended on it. Peggy and Greta were under no illusion – if they drank again they’d die or go crazy. It was just some days the choice between dying and going crazy or playing volleyball at a daytime picnic wasn’t an easy one to make. When they told people in the meetings this, they’d say, ‘Yeah,’ and nod their heads. When they told people outside the meetings this – counsellors, the Christians at work – they said, ‘What?’ and Peggy and Greta would change the subject.

The silence went on and on but it was actually okay. Someone did a good shot, and Peggy and Greta found themselves clinking their heavy rings on their Coke cans like they were clapping.

‘Do you want to play?’