‘Seems I’m not the right fit for most places,’ Zac said.

He’d assured me that he’d definitely mentioned the stealing charge to me before going to prison. Why would he not have when Josh knew, when Sarah knew? Why would he not have told me that?

Yeah, why?

‘So, you’re seeing Vernon again tomorrow, according to the calendar?’ Zac said.

‘Yeah, maybe,’ Sarah said. ‘You’re not going out tomorrow night, are you, Chris?’

‘What?’ I looked up from my phone. ‘Yeah, I was thinking about it. Biddy’s desperate to see me.’

She wasn’t. She still hadn’t replied to my text.

‘I just need to let Vern know,’ Sarah said. She had a bunch of the kids’ socks in her hands. Zac watched me looking at her.

‘I’ll probably end up at Biddy’s tonight,’ I lied. ‘So, yeah, tomorrow night, go for it. Don’t mind me.’

Zac looked at her, saw the same frown I saw, looked back at me, saw the same face Sarah was looking at. He was the observer, we the observed. I returned my gaze to my –

‘Wait, was that Olly calling out?’ Sarah said, turning.

‘I’ll go,’ I said. ‘You stay here.’

I trudged into the house, stood at the kids’ door. They were sleeping, clutching their teddies, wearing the imitation Uruguayan soccer jerseys Zac had given them as belated Xmas presents, probably paid for with Josh’s hard-earned dough.

‘You could teach Spanish,’ I said, returning to the backyard. It was obvious – people would pay cash.

‘Yeah, maybe,’ Zac said. ‘I’ll get something, I know I will, it’s just frustrating. When you’ve worked in senior management … I don’t know. It’s just humiliating or whatever.’

‘Do you have money for study materials and things?’ Sarah said, sitting on the herb garden wall, lighting one of Zac’s cigarettes.

‘Um, how can I put this?’ He traced a finger along the top rim of his glasses. ‘No.’

‘It’s OK if you can’t contribute to the bond or first month’s rent,’ Sarah said. ‘I have a feeling it’ll all balance out in time.’

Or he could sponge off of us, drive a wedge between Sarah and me, supplant me in my kids’ affections.

‘Yeah, I have exactly the same feeling,’ he said.

* * *

On Friday evening I skidded to a halt outside Biddy’s house.

Noel opened the door, Cedric barking in his arms.

‘How’s it going?’ I said.

‘Yeah, good,’ he said. ‘Biddy’s in the crack den.’

He backed off, sloped into his bedroom, closed the door. Was he hiding from me? From Winford? Biddy came into the kitchen from the crack den, and –

‘Wow, your hair looks amazing.’

Pink, purple, red – her skin radiant.

‘Aw, thanks,’ she said, lifting up one side. ‘Look, they’ve shaved under here too.’

‘It looks ace.’