Biddy’s boots clopping. ‘Yeah, but, I mean, she wanted to have kids though, right?’

She had – more than me. She’d lobbied for children, and I’d gone along for the ride. But they were here now, people in the world, people I loved, and I –

Sarah had chosen me for that, not Nikau.

Biddy’s boots clopping quickly ahead. ‘Do you ever wonder what our kids would be like?’

‘Hey, wait,’ I said, taking her hand, stopping us both.

Her eyes teary, her happy smile. Having kids. Never having them. It was there in her face, her mouth a scrunched-up question mark. ‘Come on,’ she said, squeezing my fingers. ‘We’ll be late.’

I followed her to the bar, backed off, watched her queuing. The Truth Rockets would be on stage any minute. I’d never heard of them – the gig was Biddy’s suggestion.

She laughed and joked with the tattooed barman, both of them of childbearing age, like nearly everyone else in the venue.

Having more kids – I’d be up for that. Not having them – I’d be up for that too.

She swam slowly back through virile bodies, handed me a beer. ‘Shall we move in a bit closer?’

The stage was still being set, microphones tapped. I could move my legs, drum my fingers on my thighs, sip my beer.

‘Is everything OK?’ she said.

‘Yeah, fine.’

13

13

I sat with Sarah in the bedroom the following Saturday as she was getting ready, pretending to read my book.

Aaron was really nice, really nice – she’d said it twice. Their first date, the previous evening, had gone really well. Zac babysat. Biddy and I had gone out dancing.

Sarah had paid for the drinks and food because Aaron had left his card at home. He’d driven her back to ours in his Mazda, had sold his Maserati, he’d said, to invest in property. They’d kissed, just a small one, before saying goodnight.

Now, less than twenty-four hours later, he was coming to pick her up at seven-thirty on the dot.

Who was I to point out we had an impostor in our midst, a hoodwinker with an average car and dodgy motives? I had to back off, ask fewer questions, try not to obsess over the minutiae of Sarah’s every sexual impulse.

‘What knickers you wearing?’ I said over the hum of the hairdryer.

She turned, her fringe curled in a brush. ‘My nice ones.’

‘Just in case?’

She pulled a face. ‘They’re the only ones I have without holes in them, Chris.’

‘So, you don’t think you’ll sleep with him?’

‘No, hun, not tonight. I might just give him a blowjob or something.’

Just a BJ.

‘Can I meet him?’

‘What? This evening?’

‘Why not? Just to say hello when he picks you up, so we can at least see we’re both human. You never seem to want me to meet your men.’