‘Deb.’

‘How come you didn’t go?’

She shrugs, angular shoulders rising up and then down again, her body a triangle. ‘I don’t know.’

‘Are you struggling?’ he says.

She looks at him, her face entirely neutral. ‘I’m worried about Cathy,’ she says.

‘Cathy? Why?’

‘She isn’t herself.’

‘But who even is Cathy?’ Joe says.

‘I know,’ she says. ‘I know. But –’

‘But what?’

‘She is suspicious of the warrant.’

‘Aren’t we all?’

‘It has your name on it,’ Frannie says. ‘I don’t know. I’m worried she doesn’t feel –’

‘Feel what?’ Joe says. The light of the scales goes off, leaving them in the gloom, the room the bottle-green of the Solitaire background.

Frannie says nothing, just looks at him in the dimness. ‘I think we should be nicer to her,’ she says in an almost whisper. ‘Keep her – on side.’

‘What? We are nice to her,’ Joe says, shocked by the manipulation underneath Frannie’s statement. They’ve never suggested anyone should keep anyone on side. As though this is a game only one person can win.

Frannie raises her shoulders again and then drops them. She has her face cupped in her hands. ‘I just – Joe. She has so much power over us.’

Joe puts his hand against the wall, trying to think. ‘What are you saying?’ He raises his voice.

‘Let’s not fight,’ she says plainly. ‘I’m your co-host.’

Joe ignores her. ‘I still don’t understand what you’re saying.’

‘Nothing, really. Just –’

‘So what, then? Cathy holds the cards? She could hand us in?’

‘Maybe.’

‘We could hand her in?’

Frannie stares at him, eyes round, two little surprised o’s. ‘What? No. I definitely didn’t mean that.’

‘Me neither,’ Joe says quickly.

They travel home together. Cathy’s house is in darkness. Joe wordlessly heads into Frannie’s after her. He opens her doors and sits there, on the kitchen floor, feet on the patio, just thinking, thinking about what she said. Thinking about how, when he asked whether she was okay, she said she was worried about Cathy.

She points wordlessly to his Yellow Tail merlot sitting on the worktop like a loyal friend. ‘You always remember to buy it,’ he says.

‘I do.’

She pours him a glass, not asking where Cathy is, not inviting her over. It’s the first time they’ve done it alone. They clink glasses and she sits down next to him. ‘Are you okay, though?’ he presses.

‘Don’t worry about me,’ she says.

‘I’m kind of worried if you’re not okay,’ he laughs.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Just – I mean … we buried a body,’ he says, pleased that their only neighbour is Cathy.

‘Yes … I’m aware of that, Joe.’

‘I just – I don’t know.’

‘Drink your wine, Joe,’ she says.

‘Cheers,’ he says softly.

Frannie looks sideways at him. She slides off her shoes, sips at her wine, saying nothing. They turn their eyes to the sky and sit in silence. Joe knows they are both thinking of their conversation earlier in the reception area.