When in his own room he spent some time going through the next morning’s programme, then watched the late news. He always found it reassuring to see how much worse off other countries were compared with his own, how much better his life was than most other people’s. He figured that his situation was better than ninety-five per cent of the world’s population. ‘Top five per cent, Pearly,’ he said.

David was dressed when Pearly went to his room in the morning but said he didn’t feel fit enough to attend the meetings. If Pearly would lend him the money he’d catch a bus home. That would have suited Pearly. It’s a bore being the companion of a sick person for whom you have no responsibility, but Pearly thought of David travelling on his own, unwell, on public transport. ‘We’ll go back together,’ he said. ‘I’ll ring the organisers and explain what’s happened. Tourism won’t grind to a halt because we’re not there. The Christchurch bigwigs and politicos will do all the talking anyway. There’ll be a swag of stuff about branding. I get tired of hearing about branding.’

‘Only if you’re sure. I’d really appreciate it. We’ll be back so much sooner and be able to stop if we have to — if I feel sick.’

Great, thought Pearly, I suppose he’ll chunder in the car.

The rain had stopped, there was no wind, and a welcome, but wan, sun lit the Canterbury Plains as they drove south. David rested with his head back, eyes shut. He breathed shallowly through his mouth and burped occasionally, followed by apology, still with eyes closed. Pearly was reminded of a teammate who years ago would make a pistol of his hand, point it, burp and say ‘Gotcha’. Nothing else remained in Pearly’s memory of the guy except the burping and that he once broke front teeth in scoring against the post. Not even his name survived, and Pearly thought as he drove of the mass of casual acquaintance made during one’s life, most of whom drift pass without regret, never to be met up with again.

When they were not far from home, David sat forward and asked Pearly to pull over. He got out urgently and stood in the grass of the roadside, bending forward with his hands on his knees, fearful of being sick, but nothing came, and after a time standing upright with his back to passing traffic he returned to the car. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I’m feeling worse. It’s just as well I didn’t try to stay on for any of the sessions.’

‘We’re nearly there.’

‘Thank God for that. I’ll text my wife again.’

‘No place like home when you’re not well,’ said Pearly, and he increased speed a little.