‘Yeah, really strong,’ I said. ‘And from there, you go straight onto the next song?’

‘Yeah.’ She clasped her hands. ‘The one about the Matisse painting. Shall I play it for you?’

10

10

We were at Belleville: Zac, Josh, Mel and me. Sarah was at home, Biddy was at the tech rehearsal for her show. Hey, look everybody, I was out in the world on a Monday evening without one of my partners.

Time alone. That’s what I needed. What I craved more than anything. But this would do for now.

One of Mel’s short stories had been published in a zine that would sell next to no copies, but it was still worth celebrating her work making it into print. And speculative fiction – that was a growth market. She bit her ring-fingernail, her pinkie on her cheekbone; would be performing after the young man who was currently at the microphone. He was reading too quickly, swallowing his sentences, but his piece was funny, an open letter from Karl Marx to Facebook users, a digression on being a cis white male – minor applause – a shout-out to people beyond the binary, more Marx …

‘Another drink?’ Josh said. He’d been knocking back the whiskies, had been signed off work for a week with acute anxiety.

‘Nah, all good,’ I said.

He stood, tucked his shirt into his jeans, walked towards the bar. He was half-cut already, had mumbled something into my ear about Zac and Sarah. I’d nodded, hadn’t understood.

‘Be quick,’ Mel shouted. ‘I’m on next.’

He turned, nodded, smiled. I loved Josh, how much he loved Mel; I wished his life was easier. Zac’s mother’s death had hit Josh harder than it had Zac, it seemed. That’s the way Josh was.

The young man at the mic was settling into his theme. ‘History repeats itself, first as tragedy, second as Facebook Memories.’

Zac leant towards me, sneered. ‘I’m totally into this communist vibe. Takes me right back to the seventies.’

‘It’s pretty funny,’ I said.

Mel leant in, pulled a concerned face. ‘Zac told me Sophie’s got pneumonia.’

‘Yeah, kind of,’ I said. ‘They found traces, kind of markers that show she had it. She has a secondary infection now, a follow-on, but it’s not as bad.’

‘And she’s on medication?’

‘Yeah, antibiotics. She’s been on herbs for months but … yeah … the doctor said that should help her kick it once and for all.’

‘Zac said you were really pissed off with Sarah about the herbs.’

Zac looked at me, shrugged.

I’d arrived home from work on Friday, made sure the kids were in the living room, shut our bedroom door, said to Sarah, ‘This is all thanks to your New Age bullshit.’