‘Agreed,’ said Greta. ‘No marriage, just prasadam.’ She looked behind herself because she’d lost the stone she was kicking. They were both like that. Acutely obsessed and wildly distractible. Peggy looked around, took a step and picked up a small, round stone. She dropped it at Greta’s feet and Greta smiled. She patted Peggy on the arm to say thanks. If it wasn’t for you.

They couldn’t walk straight through the grid system to tom yum. There were a couple of houses that still held a bit of a pull. It was best to avoid them, especially on a depressing Sunday night. One day it wouldn’t tempt them. One day they’d joke and say, ‘There’s not enough alcohol in the whole wide world to satisfy the deep hole in us, so why start?’ But there were men in the houses, and where there were men there was the illusion that Peggy and Greta could get what they needed. A habitual idea that the men could give them enough alcohol and drugs to satisfy the deep hole. They’d been raped in both the houses. Lots and lots of times. Once on a terrible night towards the end – smashed in the face and smashed apart by all the men in the house. To an amateur that would seem like enough to put them off. But when they first got back from rehab a week before Dell and Heidi they’d found themselves outside the house, thirsty, starving, telling each other how it wasn’t that bad. Not really. On balance. Compared to not having a drink or a taste ever again. The sun set while they stood there. The lights had come on in the house, they could see the men walking around in the windows. The guy who’d pissed on Peggy and Greta while they lay bleeding and naked in the lounge came out onto the deck because he thought he’d seen them from inside. ‘Peggy,’ he’d shouted. ‘Greta, is that you?’ and they’d stood and looked at him without answering. Looked at how much bigger he was than both of them. Realised, again, like they always did, that they didn’t stand a chance against how much bigger he was and how he had all the others on his side. Still, they thought, maybe. Maybe it’ll be different tonight. Maybe they could get in and get what they needed and then leave. Maybe just steal money – or ask for money. Ask for money for all the times they’d fucked him for free, for drugs. Like debt collectors. And then he walked to the front gate and shouted at them again. And they’d said, quietly, in something only slightly louder than a mumble, ‘No.’ No, it wasn’t them. It was someone else. And they’d walked away realising it wasn’t a lie. They were someone else.