She’d been at Valentino’s, their second date, until two in the morning. My friend Josh had come around for a beer, told me his new meds were starting to take effect. I’d told him … nearly nothing, said that Sarah was out with a friend.

‘And what’s this?’ she said, taking the tissue-wrapped rectangle from the box, untying the ribbon. ‘Oh … that’s gorgeous, hun.’

‘Try it on.’

She unfolded the scarf, wrapped it round her neck.

‘Does it remind you of anything?’ I said, stroking her leg.

She took it off again, held it out, looked at it, confused.

‘Mummy,’ Oliver said, ‘would you rather be a pickle on a sausage or a sausage on a pickle?’

‘Oh, I don’t know, darling.’

‘I think a pickle on a sausage,’ Sophie said.

‘Yeah, maybe that,’ Sarah said. ‘Actually, no, wait, I’m not sure …’

Valentino knew she was married, that I was OK with her sleeping with him. He’d even told her I sounded like a really nice guy. That had felt good, being patronised by a complete stranger. I was a nice guy, and some other nice guy was screwing my wife.

But fuck patriarchy – Sarah was the one doing the screwing, nothing was being done unto her. She was in charge of her body and could decide for herself about the scarf.

‘You could maybe wear it tonight,’ I said.

What I didn’t want Sarah to say, then or at any other point during the day, was that she was too tired to go out for her birthday. I’d organised everything: babysitter, invites, drugs, a plan of action. We’d have something to eat with friends, go dancing.

In reality, I’d had no idea where to go dancing given I’d not danced publicly for years, and no idea where to eat given I rarely went anywhere other than friends’ houses or to the Brunswick Baths with the kids.

I’d phoned Mel, Josh’s girlfriend. She’d emailed three food options, two bar options, two nightclubs. I’d phoned again to thank her, said, ‘I reckon the first bar, what do you think?’

‘Yeah. That’s why I put it first.’

She’d also given me a number for Biddy, her performer friend who worked at the Arts Centre and might be able to hook me up with a dealer. Caps. That’s what everyone took nowadays, not pills.

* * *

‘How many are you after?’ Biddy said when I phoned on the Wednesday.

‘Not sure. There’ll be about eight of us, but I don’t know if everyone will be taking. How many do people normally buy?’

‘Just depends.’

‘OK, maybe ten. What do you think?’

‘I think it’s up to you,’ she said, laughing. ‘But ten sounds about right. Do you want me to get them for you, and you can just give me the money later?’

‘Oh, yeah. Would you mind?’