I followed him to the door, onto the veranda, waved at the Uber driver. It was hot already, mid-twenties. ‘So yeah,’ Zac said, ‘I hope this Dave guy isn’t another loser. I don’t know how much more of this I can take.’

She’d told him. Sarah had fucking told him. I only knew about Dave through careful and consistent monitoring of her Tinder and Facebook accounts – but she’d spilled the beans, as per always, to Boy Wonder. Still, whichever way you looked at it, he was fucked.

And whichever way I looked at it, things had changed. Only two questions now really mattered with Sarah: Did she feel OK about herself? Was she safe?

I hugged Zac, watched him with his leather bag and plastic carrier of books. ‘Stay safe, man.’

He turned, made a stab at smiling, nodded.

My stomach leapt – the poor fucker.

14

14

With Zac gone, things were different. Some things. But not the fact I had to be at work in ten minutes for a meeting and was still at home in Brunswick.

Assuming he didn’t riot, he’d be freed just before Christmas, twenty-eight days older, by which point Sarah and I would have aged several years and Biddy might have had kittens.

At the school drop-off, Sophie had said, ‘I miss him, Daddy.’

‘I kind of miss him too,’ Oliver said. He’d only been gone a week. ‘And Mummy really misses him. She keeps saying it.’

I missed him too, to my surprise. The shell I’d put between us had cracked, its yoke slopping out. I was jealous of Zac, his ability to slide from one top job to another. His youth. But mostly, I was jealous of his connection with Sarah, his bond with Oliver and Sophie. My perspective was skewed. He was helping Sarah while I was out gallivanting. Helping with the kids when I couldn’t. Helping me, or trying to, by giving me all of the details I was too scared to ask for from Sarah. He kept me informed about the suicide blogs he’d been reading, sharing the links – not for sympathy, dude, but so I’d have something to refer to if he –

Work, I had to … Sarah’s knickers were on the floor, next to the mirror. I could pick them up, bunch them under my nose, snort some pheromones, but –

I got my phone and keys into my bag, pulled and wrestled with … I could still smell Biddy on my hands and face, even after a shower, had left her in bed at 6 am to come home. But was this my home? Did I have a home? The woman I felt most peaceful with, most secure with and made most effort with lived a kilometre and a half away, while I played happy dad through the shame of a sexless marriage.

My bike – I was ready. I locked the door, got onto the street, rode.