It was a good night, an occasion on which to share his success with people most of whom had no more than passing envy and wished him well. Not so the guy who rang him when the party was in full swing. Pearly walked with the phone into his study.

‘Having a good time, fuckwit?’ It was a quick, high voice yet indisputably male. A voice imbued with animosity.

‘Who’s this?’

‘You’re all mouth and arse, Pearly. Always have been. A bag of shit. You’ll get what’s coming, though, that’s for sure.’

‘What’s eating you then?’ said Pearly. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Fuck names. I just wanted to tell you you’re not as shit-hot as you think you are. So enjoy your useless party with your useless friends, but you don’t fool me, Pearly old son. Not for a minute.’ The phone went dead before Pearly could reply.

‘How about that,’ Pearly said, although alone. He wasn’t greatly surprised. You got that sort of thing if you held any sort of office, if you exercised any form of leadership. Unhappy, disappointed people resent the pleasure and success of others. A few times before he’d been the target for someone embittered or malicious. Usually face to face. It went with the territory, and Pearly went back to his guests, put it from his mind, continued to enjoy being with well-wishers.

Gumbo was the last to leave, and even Helen, midnight well passed, made a few hints: placing his jacket on the back of the sofa and collecting wine glasses, some still half-full, from around the rooms. But Gumbo was still buoyed up by Pearly’s achievement and a social occasion that was for him a rarity. He followed Helen into the kitchen and offered to help as she loaded the dishwasher. Pearly stood in the driveway and talked with his brother and Natalie for some time before they drove away, and when he came inside, Gumbo was still there. ‘Okay, man, time to go,’ said Pearly. ‘We’re off to bed.’ It was best to be direct with Gumbo, and he accepted that without offence. ‘Take a couple of these opened wines. We’ll never get through them.’

‘There’s some good stuff,’ said Gumbo. ‘I’m really a beer drinker, though.’ His face had a pink shine of sweat and enjoyment. He didn’t want the night to end. He’d dressed himself up for high society, had Gumbo: a white shirt and blue trousers with two sets of perpendicular creases on each leg front from some ironing misadventure. And instead of his usual sneakers he wore black shoes with velcro straps.

‘Take as many bottles as you like,’ said Pearly. ‘Come on then, I’ll carry a couple out for you.’

‘It’s just as well they’re screw caps these days,’ said Helen. ‘I never used to be able to get the corks back in.’