‘We’re Airbnbing our place out, otherwise he’s going to the kennels.’

A spark in Cain’s eyes. ‘Oh, that’s right you mentioned it,’ he says to Axel. ‘That’s this weekend, is it?’

‘Yep. Check in Friday afternoon. I personally think the kennels are okay, but Claire calls them the gulags,’ Axel teases, spearing a carrot on his plate.

‘I call them the gulags in private, thank you very much. But he does come home with the shakes.’

‘They must be giving him electric shock therapy and charging us $70 a night. You’d be doing us a huge favour. We could just give you two the money.’

Seventy a night? To look after a dog? I don’t really want it in our house. Cain asks me with his eyes, shrugging, before he can respond I speak. ‘No,’ I say. ‘We’re actually going to Tarawera for the weekend.’ The lie comes easily.

Cain is still staring at me, he quirks an eyebrow.

‘Sorry, Taj,’ Claire says, her exaggerated vowels stolen from a bad TV drama. ‘They don’t love you.’

‘Why can’t you take him away?’

‘Mum’s allergies,’ Claire says, resting an elbow on the table and cupping her chin in her palm. ‘And he hates the car. Are you sure you don’t want to go to Tarawera next weekend instead?’ She tips a little wine into her mouth, her jaw-length black hair falling to one side. She’s exquisite. Small and strong. When we’d holidayed together in Bali a few years ago, Axel and Claire drew stares everywhere we went. Skin as tight as stretched rubber, muscles stencilled just below the surface. After a boozy day poolside, I had let my eyes linger on Axel in the water for just a heartbeat too long, more fascinated than anything else but Cain had noticed. ‘I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if you took a picture.’

‘No,’ I say. ‘They’re just both so bloody fit.’

He’d raised his eyebrows as if to say tell me about it.

‘Like you,’ I’d added a beat too late. ‘You are all ripped and here I sit, a doughy profiterole.’

The memory reminds me of the app, Cain in the kitchen. What are you doing? Had he seen it? I realise they’re all waiting for me to speak again. ‘No,’ I say. ‘We can’t go next weekend, I’ve got work. Wish we could help but we’ve not been down to check in on the lake house in a while and I really wanted to get there this weekend.’

‘Off to the gulag again, sorry Taj,’ Claire says.

‘So anyone can book this place at any time?’ Cain asks, changing the subject.