I nearly fell again, stubbed my toe on the bedpost, pulled on Biddy’s dressing-gown, stuck my head out into the hallway – Cedric, staring at me, trembling but not barking, no sign of Noel – ran to the bathroom, closed the door, found the toothbrush Biddy had left out for me, washed my face, rushed back to her room, got my clothes from the floor, pulled them on, ripped a sock, said bye – another quick hug – got my bike from the kitchen, said bye again as I hurried past her door.

I rode hard. People waiting at tram stops, cold faces, preparing shopfronts …

Sarah would be stressed, so I was stressed. Biddy had been relaxed, so I was relaxed. And I’d had sex. Already. My day was going well.

I got my bike onto the veranda, knocked at the door – breathe – saw Sophie’s outline through the frosted glass, heard her coughing as she reached for the lock. Her sleepy face, matted hair, green eyes, bruised cheek. ‘Where were you, Daddy?’

‘Out on my bike, sweetheart. See – my bike. Is Mummy in the shower, yeah?’

She nodded, sniffed, coughed, retreated.

I got the bike inside, went to the living room, smelt Zac’s cologne, La Nuit De L’Homme. ‘Hey, Olly.’

‘Hey, Daddy.’

‘Aren’t you meant to have your school clothes on?’

‘I’m not going.’

‘Mate, we need to leave in about –’

‘I’m too tired.’

Me too. ‘So Zac stayed over?’

‘Don’t know.’

‘Well, looks like it.’ I pointed at the sofa.

He glanced at the blankets my gran had crocheted, shrugged. ‘I don’t think he slept on the –’

Footsteps. ‘Oh, there you are,’ Sarah said, a towel as a turban, another round her midriff and chest, naked shoulders and calves, her smell, her wet-warm scent, scurrying into the bedroom.

‘Oh, hey …’ I followed her. ‘Have the kids had breakfast?’

‘No, sorry, hun, I was meditating, completely lost track of the time.’

5

5

Agnë had snuck up behind me at my desk – hadn’t really, I just hadn’t heard her. I glanced back at my monitor, at Sarah’s open Facebook account, back at Agnë. Being caught hacking into Sarah’s social media accounts wasn’t the worst possible outcome. I’d also been reading a blog called More Than Two, after googling polyamory help me, and the masthead was still visible on the screen.

‘How’s she getting on?’ Agnë said, pointing at Sarah’s profile pic.

‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘Yeah, good.’

Agnë, still there. ‘Well, tell her I said hello.’

‘Yeah, I will, yeah.’

I smiled as she walked off, swivelled in my chair, pulled on the headphones, lowered the volume of the music on my phone, reopened the browser, peeked over my shoulder, continued scanning More Than Two.