Peggy and Greta didn’t have much nice to wear. Nice, like what the world would think was nice. They had clothes they liked but nothing they thought was suitable for the meeting at Workbridge. They had nothing concrete to base this on, just thoughts. They tried to not wear ripped stockings and they put on some make-up but toned it down a bit and then they got all the bits of paper they had to take and put them in the bag and ate breakfast and brushed their teeth and caught a bus to the Workbridge office, which was in a neighbouring suburb. Peggy and Greta worked out they wanted to be there about fifteen minutes before the appointment. That seemed about right. It was how much earlier they would get to work before opening time. The receptionist looked at them and quickly looked at the appointment book, told them they were early, and they said they knew, and she showed them where they could sit and wait. There were no magazines. It wasn’t a doctor’s surgery but there were posters and pamphlets and a few other people waiting but not many. They were all looking at the floor, or their hands, or the walls, anywhere but at Peggy and Greta, so Peggy and Greta were able to look at them and around the room and out the window. They were on the second floor, so they could see the other side of the road and people coming and going. Then one of the receptionists came over and told them it was time for their appointment.

The woman was at a desk. She stood up when Greta and Peggy came in, and thanked the receptionist. She said they might need another chair and the receptionist brought one in and Peggy and Greta sat down. The woman was looking at the computer now, but she reached out and Greta handed her the documents they’d been asked to bring.

‘I’m Zara.’ She kept typing for a minute, then stopped, looked at the screen one last time and turned to face Greta and Peggy. She was about thirty. Greta and Peggy weren’t great at guessing ages, but she looked about that age. She was wearing a jacket. It was navy blue.

‘So, what brings you here?’ Zara looked through the papers they’d brought.

‘Our friends came and saw you a while back,’ Greta said.

‘And we wondered if maybe we could talk to you,’ Peggy said.

‘What did your friends talk to us about?’ Zara asked.

‘They’ve started a course,’ Greta said.

‘Would you like to start a course?’ Zara was back at her computer, tapping something in, moving the mouse.

Greta and Peggy shrugged. ‘We quite like art,’ Greta said.

‘What are you doing at the moment?’ Zara asked.

‘We work at the Salvation Army shop,’ Greta said, and Peggy nodded.