‘What do you mean?’ Winford pouted at her, at Zac. ‘And what’s your name?’

‘Zac. You must be Winford.’

‘Oh, he’s good.’ Winford looked at Biddy. ‘I know he wants to fuck me. Would you like to fuck me, Zac? Wouldn’t that be nice? My boyfriend Noel won’t mind.’

Mel came into the hallway. ‘Wassup?’

‘Oh, hello,’ said –

I turned. Sarah was in the doorway, smiling. No Lebanese cucumbers – just Sarah.

Kudos.

‘I’m Win.’ He reached over, kissed Sarah’s cheek. ‘I love Biddy, but I’m OK with the whole poly thing. She says Chris makes her very happy.’

‘What happened to your face?’ Sarah said. ‘Let’s clean that up.’

Mel and Zac retreated to the living room. Sarah led Winford into our bedroom, followed by Biddy and me, and sat him on the bed. I climbed onto the mattress, leant against the wall, invited Biddy. She climbed on, reversed, sat between my legs.

‘I love my skin,’ Winford said. ‘I mean, look at it. Don’t you think I have very nice skin?’

‘You’ve got beautiful skin,’ Sarah said, lips raw, sandpapered chin, saucer eyes. She dripped some liniment onto a cotton ball, knelt in front of Winford. She rarely got squeamish. Fingers squashed in doorjambs, rusty nails through feet – Sarah was the family medic, not me.

Winford turned his scraped cheek towards her, said, ‘You really think it’s nice?’

‘I do,’ Sarah said. ‘It’s like a baby’s skin.’

I held the top of Biddy’s thighs from behind, moved my pelvis. I’d been building a wall around myself for years; Biddy had kicked a hole right through it.

‘I just knew I was going to like you,’ Winford said, slurring. ‘We should become proper friends. Would you like that?’

‘Sounds good,’ Sarah said. ‘Can you turn your head a bit?’

‘Do you really like my skin?’

‘I really do,’ she said.

I pushed at Biddy, could confide in her, did confide in her, wanted to fuck her.

‘Me too,’ Winford said. ‘Wait … Do you have a mirror?’

Sarah stopped dabbing at his cheek, pointed.

Winford stood, edged towards the mirror, smiling, nearly stood on Sarah’s meditation candle, saw himself, grimaced, his face like The Scream. ‘My fucking skin … Is that …? There are bits of fucking tarmac in my face.’

‘We’ll get it cleaned up,’ Sarah said. ‘Come on, sit down, don’t be a sook.’

I kissed Biddy’s neck, squeezed her thighs, felt her backing further into me.

Zac and Mel were in the living room still, talking about … I couldn’t hear properly, didn’t care. Winford sat forlorn while Sarah dabbed at his face, apologised, dabbed again.

‘I think I love you,’ Winford said.

‘Look up,’ she said.

I was squeezing Biddy’s thighs, inhaling her. One shot – boom – and I’d bang her.

‘This shouldn’t leave a scar,’ Sarah said.