I took the Lekker like a faithful stableboy, stood it against the back fence, gave it some water and grain, walked back towards Biddy. She introduced herself to Zac, to –

‘Hey, Biddy, this is Sarah,’ I said. ‘Sarah, this is Biddy. Oh …’ Footsteps at the side of the house. ‘Oh, hey man.’

Josh – his sad face, his palms in the air. ‘I’m so sorry, brother.’

‘No need,’ I said.

‘Are you sure?’

I said nothing, hugged him, squeezed hard. Josh’s hugs were the best.

We all chatted, laughed. I went to the kitchen, crossed paths with Biddy, got her a wineglass.

‘There are some drugs,’ I said. ‘Zac brought some. And I have some too.’

‘Have you already taken something?’

‘No. I was waiting for … I don’t know. I was just waiting. I’m not really bothered either way.’

I poured some more wine for Sarah, went out to the –

‘Oh, are you OK?’ I said.

Sarah was still on the herb garden wall, doubled over, no longer moving to the music. Zac was sitting next to her, rubbing her back, his hand travelling up and down and –

‘It must be the brownie,’ Sarah said. ‘I’ve bitten off more than my bark. I wanted to be fresh for tomorrow night.’

I hadn’t touched the brownies, hadn’t wanted to. Zac looked at me, raised his eyebrows, kept rubbing gently as if he’d somehow missed the memo that I was possessive as fuck over Sarah.

My stomach … The thought of going to Valentino’s house was … I hadn’t met him but Sarah was fucking him. The thought of not going to Valentino’s house … I hadn’t met him but Sarah was fucking him.

I sat, Schrödinger’s Chris, rubbed her back too. I said, ‘You should try to sleep it off.’

‘Yeah, that’s maybe best.’ She got to her feet, looked dizzy, was falling backwards – no … I grabbed her, brought her towards me.

My wife was wasted. Sarah.

I lay with her in bed, helped her put on her eye mask, stroked her arm until she fell asleep. We’d been here before, would be again. The trick was to breathe, breathe, breathe.

* * *

I played guitar with Josh, Zac and Biddy in the living room, coming up on my second cap but still competent enough to strum and sing with significant mistakes and lyrical blanks.

‘And so, yeah, that’s that,’ I said, passing the guitar to Josh.

‘Yeah, wow.’ He came forwards on the sofa, pulled the strap across his shoulder, started noodling. ‘Oh, brother, you’re out of tune.’

I shrugged, sat on the floor, smiled at Zac, edged closer to Biddy.

‘That was ace,’ she said.

‘Oh, thanks. I’d love to hear you on the piano sometime. Hey, would I be able to speak to you, like, privately?’

‘Um, sure …’

We stood.

‘If you’re getting more wine while you’re through there,’ Zac said.