We fought our way back through to the assembly hall – people were leaving now, it was quieter – and feigned interest in art projects that had no connection to our kids. Sarah stood talking to the mother of a girl in Oliver’s class. Sophie and Oliver ran, slid along the wooden floor on their knees and hips, laughed. I stood next to Biddy, felt out of place.

She tapped my arm. ‘You’re still OK if I run through some of my show later?’

‘Of course. I’ll just need to get the kids to bed first.’ I could hold her hand, reassure her, right there in the assembly hall, fuck the teachers, the kids, the other parents and their judgement. No, my hand refused to move.

Sophie and Oliver ran past with red cheeks, chasing someone else’s children.

The woman Sarah had been speaking to waved and smiled as she passed. Red hair, dark lipstick. I waved and smiled back – she could bang me, if she wanted.

‘What do you think?’ Sarah said, coming over. ‘Should we go?’

* * *

I followed Sarah into the kitchen, closed the door gently behind me. ‘Thank fuck.’

‘I know,’ she said. ‘There’s wine, Biddy, if you want some?’

‘Yeah, sure.’ Biddy sat on the barstool. ‘Where’s Zac?’

‘We gave him the night off,’ Sarah said. ‘He’s on a date with the barista from Small Axe. You know, the Canadian one?’

‘With the sleeve tats?’

‘Yeah. She apparently propositioned him when he went in for his long black. She liked his glasses.’

‘Wow,’ Biddy said. ‘You’re sure? She’s a total babe.’

Sarah handed Biddy a glass of wine. ‘Do you want one, Chris?’

‘Yeah, why not.’ I smiled at her, looked at Biddy. ‘He left some weed here, told us to help ourselves.’

Sarah and Biddy talked about the art show while I got Zac’s stash from the top of the fridge. There was a chance the three of us could stand in the back garden sharing a joint and drinking cheap wine on a Tuesday evening without talking about Assi and what a dick he was, but it was a very slim chance. Which was a shame. I needed time, me-time, me-time, me … What came after chronic fatigue was ugly – sharp edges and bad lubrication. Especially after a hectic day of pretending to work, an early evening sojourn to the school.

I zipped up my jacket. ‘It’s getting cold.’

‘I’m quite warm.’ Sarah exhaled, looked at the joint, passed it to Biddy. ‘So, yeah, I’m obviously just left wondering what his problem is. The weird thing is, I had this dream last night that …’

* * *

In the crack den a few hours later, Biddy stood from her piano, turned, smiled. ‘So then, yeah, after that it’s the opening monologue, which you’ve heard already. And then I wanted to go straight into the night Aidan was found.’

‘Yeah, well, ready when you are.’