“Thanks.” Why don’t we keep spare batteries in this apartment? I’ll have to talk to Myrtle. Or just sell the damn place. Then I wouldn’t be standing here in bare feet in front of a woman who is probably pretty pissed off at me. Although she hides it quite well.

I watch her clamber upon the chair. She does it gracefully, as if balancing on a piece of furniture is all she does in life. She stands on tiptoe and can just reach the outer shell of the smoke detector with her fingertips.

“Careful.” I steady the chair for her.

She has already screwed off the outer casing. “Hand me the batteries.”

I try to pull the package open but, as always with these things, it’s hard to find a spot to pierce it and I have to tear at it with all my might. I finally manage to pry out two batteries. Our fingers touch when I hold them up to her.

She drops the old batteries in my palm and, all the while balancing on the tips of her toes, replaces the batteries and screws the lid on again.

I hold out my hand to her for support when she climbs back down and she takes it. At least I’ve done something.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” she says.

I shake my head. “I’m mortified. Really. I will reimburse you for the night. The person who usually takes care of this is indisposed at the moment and, as you’ve clearly noticed, I’m not very good at any of this.”

She waves me off. “Just an idea. Keep some spare batteries in a kitchen drawer, perhaps? I could have done this myself last night if I’d had the necessary equipment.”

“I can’t apologize enough. You must be so tired. How about I take you out for coffee? Show you what’s where in the neighborhood?” My earlobes flush. I don’t even know the area that well. The best I can do is take her to the Pink Bean and hope Kristin is there to tell her all about Darlinghurst’s best spots.

Camille ponders my question. “Okay,” she says. “Give me five minutes.” She heads into the bathroom.

I put the chair back and leave the remaining batteries on the kitchen counter.

Maybe when I see the real estate agent to view the house Micky was talking about, I can ask her to come and take a look at this place. Or maybe I should just move in here. I glance around. No, I couldn’t. Rebecca’s touch is all over the decor. That turquoise contrast wall in the living area. The photograph of an outback road in Queensland to my right. It used to hang in our house, until she redecorated it and relocated it here.

“I’m ready for that coffee.” Camille exits the bathroom with a smile.

Chapter Two