Sarah annoyed me, just generally, nothing you could put your finger on, because …

Valentino’s party was tomorrow, and I didn’t want to go. Maybe he was as nice as Sarah had intimated, but I was a far better judge of character.

‘I’m nervous about tomorrow,’ I said, joining her in the bedroom.

Her foot was on the vacuum cleaner, the power off, the cord rapidly recoiling. ‘Don’t be silly, hun. He’s really looking forward to meeting you. I’m sure you’ll get along.’

‘Yeah, but … You’re sometimes a bit gullible, though.’

J’accuse!

She laughed, stopped laughing. ‘You mean you’re gullible, Chris.’

I could drop the subject, knew I was right. ‘Sarah, you’re a bit naive, and that’s OK. I actually find it endearing.’

Her stern face. ‘Chrissy, come on. You’re naive. You’re a terrible judge of –’

‘Hey, hey, hey.’ Zac appeared at the bedroom door. ‘I couldn’t help overhearing your, um, discussion. I just want to say, for what it’s worth, which is nothing, that neither of you strike me as gullible people. If anything, you’re the opposite, whatever that is … in Spanish we say cauteloso.’

‘Well, thanks for saying that.’ The tension ebbing from Sarah’s face.

‘Yeah, thanks,’ I said.

‘I like to think I’m a good judge of character,’ Sarah said.

‘That’s my impression,’ Zac said. ‘And you too, Chris. You’re pretty discerning with people.’

‘Cool, so, I better just …’ I picked up the clothes Sarah had thrown onto the bed, took them through to the laundry, left Sarah and Zac in the bedroom.

When they came into the kitchen, I made as if I needed to do something in the dining room, when they came into the dining room, I wandered back through the hallway.

* * *

I’d stopped checking the time, didn’t care if Biddy came. Please come, Biddy, please.

Sarah was sitting on the herb garden wall, moving to the music on her phone, a fleck of chocolate on her cheek from Zac’s hash brownies. I dragged my attention back to his glinting glasses. ‘I’ve always been good at copying handwriting,’ he said. ‘It came in handy for wagging school. I even won an award for my abilities at uni. These days I –’

‘Yeah, fuck,’ I said. ‘Do you –?’

The squeal of the side gate – maybe it was Biddy Honig, woman of my – calm down. But it might be Biddy …

It was Biddy! With her black Lekker bike, tweed riding helmet, tomato-red jumper, high black jeans, red lipstick, golden eye shadow, blue-grey hair, knee-high boots – It’s Biddy, everyone! Biddy!

‘Hey, how are you?’ she said, hugging me, laughing, pulling away to catch her bike from falling. Oh. She untangled herself, stood. ‘Where can I put this?’