‘Oh, no,’ Josh said, downing his beer, making to stand. ‘I should go.’

‘No, don’t go, Josh,’ Biddy said, reappearing at the crack den door. ‘He’s probably just a bit drunk.’

‘That’s what I’m afraid of,’ Josh said, getting to his feet.

‘Please, Josh, sit down,’ Biddy said. ‘I’ll go sort him out.’

She disappeared, intercepted Winford, by the sound of it, in the living room. Josh sat back down on the edge of the sofa, poised to stand quickly if needed.

‘I don’t need this,’ he said. ‘My nerves are shot. What are the chances he’ll come through and start an argument?’

Winford said, ‘I need a bottle opener. We have a bottle opener, yeah? We used to have one, didn’t we? Is it in the crack den?’

‘Win, you’re in a terrible state,’ Biddy said, laughing. ‘I’m not sure more wine’s the answer.’

Winford laughed.

Josh swallowed hard. ‘I could just rush past him, make my excuses.’ His hands were shaking.

‘That won’t work,’ I said, standing. ‘We can sneak out this way, under the crack den door, then under the carport door to the alleyway?’

‘Don’t you think that’s a bit weird, brother?’

I waited for the next peal of laughter from the living room, hoisted the roller door open by about a metre, ushered Josh through on his knees, got to mine … began to, fuck, please don’t spring me mid-escape. I got under, shut the roller door as quietly as I could, yanked up the carport door, just a little, watched Josh roll heavily under it to the cobblestones, his arms crossed on his chest, did the same – fuck, there was something sharp on the ground – got to my feet again, pushed the door down.

Ha. Heartbeat.

We walked up the alleyway, me quickly, Josh stooped, trying to keep up. I started texting Biddy: Hey, we’ve done a runner. I’m just up at Josh’s house, let me know when …

‘Well, that just about tops off a terrible week,’ Josh said. ‘It’s good having Zac staying with me. You know me, brother, I love to help people out, but …’

I listened, elicited, walked.

His house smelt of Zac’s La Nuit De L’Homme. I put my phone down on his dining room table, rolled a joint with his weed, stood with him in his backyard, listening to his woes.

‘You know when you’re right on the edge?’ he said. ‘When one thing, even something small …’

‘Yeah,’ I said, passing him the joint. ‘I hear you.’

When I looked at my phone half an hour later there were nine missed calls from Biddy, three texts. Where was I? Where had I gone? Why was I ignoring her?

Heartbeat, boom. I called. ‘Hey.’

‘Where are you?’

‘Just up at Josh’s. Has Win gone to bed yet?’