Peggy sat on the toilet and Greta turned on the cold tap, wet her hands and placed them flat-palmed to her face. They could both see the old coffee mug everyone put their toothbrushes in. They both counted them, then Greta took the toothbrushes and put them in a line. She was leaning against the sink and the tap was still running. Peggy reached over as she peed and moved the toothbrushes around, trying to get them to match the people in the house. Orla’s toothbrush was green and Jimmy’s was red. Phil had one with all-white bristles, all the same length – like it was made for children. Roxana’s toothbrush was see-through green. Peggy held it up to the light before she put it next to the others. Everyone had their own toothbrush except for Peggy and Greta. They had just one blue toothbrush between the two of them. It was a solid blue that bent just before the bristles, which were punched into the handle in a rectangle. Shame ran through them. Everyone could count. But Greta looked at Peggy in the mirror and shrugged. Lots of people probably shared toothbrushes. They could probably get another toothbrush today. It was totally time to replace the old toothbrush. Maybe there were actually two toothbrushes and one of them had just taken the other one somewhere. Maybe there had always been two of them. Maybe people just needed to mind their own fucking business. There were plenty of perfectly reasonable explanations and then there was the hovering doubt about what had happened last night and what yesterday had been like and whether they would be able to get another drink soon. It felt like there had been a monumental shift in the night, and at the same time nothing had changed – like every morning. Maybe people wouldn’t even notice there were two of them now. Maybe it wasn’t their fault. Maybe this also happened to people who were fucking saints. Neither of them would own up to not knowing exactly what had happened, so the question would never be asked. It was grotesque, they could hardly look at each other. They knew that no one who saw it from the outside would want to talk about it. It was pushed under something.

Peggy wiped herself and pulled her pants back up. Greta sat on the toilet and Peggy turned on the cold tap, wet her hands and placed them flat-palmed to her face.

When they got back to the bedroom, Greta sat on the side of the bed and lit a cigarette. ‘I need a drink,’ she said.

Peggy looked out the window onto the street. ‘We don’t have any money.’

Greta nodded, picking tobacco off her tongue with her thumb and index finger. ‘There’s some mouthwash in the bathroom,’ she said.