‘Poor old Snoz,’ said Pearly as he took the lawnmower from the garage, and then, ‘What a bugger,’ in endorsement of his own comment as he checked the petrol while still thinking of his friend. He admired the rotary mower as he topped it up. It was a premier model with mulching facility and a 175cc Briggs & Stratton engine. He would ring, he decided as he wiped a little spill from the glossy red finish. He would demonstrate to Snoz that he’d been missed, that he’d been conjured in the conversation of his classmates, although not present in the flesh, that in the stories they exaggerated on revisitation he’d always have his role. Pearly stood for a moment on the lawn before starting the mower, the sun warm on the back of his shirt as he looked over his property. He was still, with a slight smile that wasn’t anything to do with what surrounded him, but a tribute to escapades with Snoz a long time ago. Yes, he’d ring. As soon as he’d finished the lawn he would go in and make the call.

Snoz’s wife answered when later he did so, but Pearly had asked Helen for her name in anticipation of that and so was unflustered. ‘Hello, Gay, it’s Pat Gates here. Pearly,’ he said.

‘Who?’

‘Pat Gates.’

‘Who?’ The inflection rose to the level almost of exasperation.

‘Pearly Gates. I’m ringing to see how Snoz is and have a chat about the school reunion. We missed him and were sorry to hear he’s been crook.’

‘He’s lying down. That’s mostly what he does now.’

‘That’s okay, then. Just tell him that—’

‘I’ll take the phone through,’ she interrupted in a tone that held no active dislike, just indifference. Pearly could hear her breathing as she walked and imagined the house through which she moved. A home much the same as the five units to which it was joined, just an extra bedroom and a garage to make it the big brother. Sliding aluminium doors, particle board, seascape prints, grey carpet, seepage stains along the shower base. And it would be as hot as Gay’s heavy exhalation suggested: the nearby estuarine creek dark and turgid, crab holes gaping in the mud. ‘It’s your South Island mate,’ he heard her say, and following the indistinct reply, ‘You know, the Pearly chap who came years ago. You played sport together.’

‘Pearly?’ The voice was subdued and uncertain. ‘That you, Pearly?’

‘Sure is. I just thought I’d ring to see how you are and let you know how the 125th went.’

‘Yeah, I wanted to go. I was looking forward to it, but I’m just not up to any travel at the moment. It’s a real bummer. I really wanted to go.’