A side glance, just enough to see the water, take the cup. Sophie came through, sat beside him. I stroked their hair, kissed their heads, returned to the kitchen.

‘So,’ I said, ‘are you going to see each other again?’

‘I hope so,’ Sarah said. ‘No point looking a gift card in the mouth.’

She hadn’t mentioned Mick’s leathers – Zac had. He’d called me at work that morning and, yes, I was seeing Biddy, just as he’d suspected. Yes, that’s right, I told Mel yesterday, then Josh, yep, yesterday evening, exactly. There will be no further comment at this time, thanks for your questions.

‘I can tell you what Sarah told me,’ he’d said. ‘It was spoken in confidence or whatever, but I’ve known you longer.’

‘Does that extra fortnight make a difference?’

‘It does to me.’

He’d taken her to the ballet, seemed to genuinely like her. The ethics were questionable, but fuck it, yes, Zac, I wanted to know.

Sarah washed, rinsed. I shoved an empty rice bag in the bin, lifted a wet plate. ‘When will you see him?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe next week.’

‘Not sooner than that?’

She thumped a plate heavily into the drying rack. ‘Stop trying to control things, Chris.’

‘Can you keep your voice down?’ I tutted. ‘And what do you mean?’

‘You know what I mean. Like at the party on the weekend, with Mick.’

‘I was expediting the inevitable.’

‘You were –’

‘Mummy,’ Sophie said, at the kitchen door, ‘can me and Olly have another cup of honey water?’

‘Can Olly not just come and get his own?’ I said. ‘You’re not his slave, you know.’

‘Mummy, can we?’

‘Just give me a second, darling, I need to finish the dishes.’

‘OK.’ A cough, a hand across her mouth.

* * *

On Biddy’s veranda an hour later, I ruffled my hair, rang the bell.

‘Hi,’ she said, opening the screen door, hugging me across my bike. I wheeled it in – Hi, Noel. Hi, Winford … Hi, barking, bared-teeth Cedric.

Biddy pulled the kitchen door closed behind us, pointed to a bottle of red, poured two glasses, ushered me through to the crack den.

And oh, did we kiss.

She played her piano – oh, how she played – sang a song – oh, how she sang – told me there was weed.

I rolled a joint while she sang another song. I sang along.

‘I really like your voice,’ she said, taking the joint. ‘Will you play me something?’ She nodded at the acoustic guitar in the corner.

I picked it up, strummed. ‘Oh, this is flat.’

‘I talked to my parents today.’

‘Oh yeah. Can you play an E on your piano?’

My hands were clammy – fucking hell, it was only playing a song.

‘My dad needs another stent.’

I kept tuning. ‘Is that for camping?’

She laughed. ‘It’s a tube that goes into the coronary arteries, you know, to keep the blood –’