‘Have you told Chris about your work?’ Josh said, his wineglass empty.

Zac looked at him, at me, gave another mini eye roll. ‘My boss called me in for a meeting with the HR manager yesterday and told me I’ll definitely still have a job. Provided I don’t serve more than six weeks in prison.’

‘You’re not going to prison,’ I said.

‘Seems very unlikely,’ Josh said. ‘Especially for a first offence.’

Zac leant over, started rummaging in his bag. ‘Fuck, I don’t have my cigarettes. Josh, you have any?’

‘Nah, man.’ Josh refilled his glass. ‘I quit. Part of my new positive outlook on life.’

‘Chris?’

‘Nah, sorry, mate.’

He riffled through his bag again, looked at me. ‘Do you think I could borrow your bike to go to the shops?’

‘Mi bicicleta es tu bicicleta.’

‘Ay, que buena pronunciación.’

‘Gracias.’

I walked with him through the hallway, helped him onto the veranda with my bike.

‘You need anything while I’m out?’

‘No thanks, man. I’m good.’

‘That’s a matter of opinion.’

‘Yeah, whatever.’

When I returned, Josh had poured us some cider. I sat, we clinked, sipped.

‘So, things are OK, brother?’

‘Yeah … Yeah, man, well, kind of. I’m living a schizophrenic life, but as far as I know I’m not actually … Anyway, I’m trying to be kinder to myself, take things easier and, yeah …’

‘That’s good to hear.’

I sipped, smiled. ‘And I’m finding Zac a bit …’

‘Intense?’

‘Intense, yeah.’ I smiled, settled. ‘I’m really sorry about you and Mel.’

He waved an arm, frowned. ‘Yeah, it’s a pisser. I just don’t know why it’s happening, brother. To me, we were – fuck, we weren’t getting on great, but we were getting on OK. Zac’s actually been really good, on both sides. He’s been chatting a lot to Mel, to me, helping us to see things from each other’s perspective. I can see why Sarah –’

‘That’s good.’

We sipped, could hug again, weep in each other’s arms.

‘He’s really down at the moment.’

‘Yeah, Sarah told me.’

He nodded, sipped. ‘I don’t know if she mentioned, he’s been having suicidal thoughts again …’

‘Yeah, she did.’ She hadn’t – but so what? It was just another of their secrets, and maybe a good one to keep. Biddy’s increasingly unsubtle baby-talk was my secret, mine alone.

‘I know. And for faking a CV.’

I looked at my phone. By the end of the week Aaron’s microbiome would have merged with Sarah’s, mine, Biddy’s, his gut flora would –

‘And doctoring his birth certificate,’ Josh said. ‘And faking his tax number. I mean, he’s been framed when it comes to the stealing, no question, but still, it’s a lot to go through.’