He caught me looking, and I saw his little features squeeze up, willing me not to say anything or make fun of Lachlan. I nodded, because of course. I nodded twice, because I was drunk.

‘That’s probably enough,’ said Lachlan. He nodded. ‘Yes,’ he said.

Neither Dan or I was stoic, and nor was my family, or anyone we’d known at uni, so I wasn’t used to it, but I thought it would be a fine quality to have. To deliver things carefully, and steadily, and rarely. And then make sure to underscore the moment. But now Lachlan’s reserve seemed to return from the top-secret location our personalities like to go when we’re drunk, and he was looking directly at me, and I squirmed.

‘Dan says you’ve been seeing someone,’ he said.

‘What? Who?’ I said.

‘Someone from Richmond,’ he said.

‘. . . Could you be more specific?’

‘He drives you around.’

‘Oh,’ I said. I relaxed. ‘He drove me one place, one time.’

‘Tell me about him,’ said Lachlan. His eyes were closed again. I laughed.

‘There’s nothing to say.’

‘Any details,’ he said.

‘Ummm,’ I said. If I was not used to stoic people, I also wasn’t used to Lachlan suddenly craving detail of this kind. Not that I had these details, the details he implied, but if I’d had them, I would have felt weird also. Dan and I were gossipy, but we didn’t really talk about other people’s bodies or what we did with them. I decided to request clearer instructions.

‘What details?’ I said.

Lachlan leaned in close.

‘You know Dan and I are monogamous,’ he said.

I couldn’t help but giggle again. He was sooo drunk, so was I. Another gasp from the doorway, then footsteps. I sighed.

‘Would you excuse me,’ I said.

I got up and swayed in the direction of the kitchen.

‘Dan,’ I said.

‘Yes,’ he said.

‘A duck bit your toe,’ I said.

‘Yes.’

‘And you’re monogamous,’ I said.

He put his head in his hands. ‘I’m monogamous,’ he mumbled. He raised his hands a little, so they weren’t covering his mouth. ‘Lachlan and I are the forty-nine per cent.’

I rushed up to him. ‘Dan, it’s good!’ I said. ‘It’s nice to be monogamous.’

He peered out between his fingers, slyly. ‘Are you shocked,’ he said.

I rolled my eyes and turned from him, lured by the promise of the TV light, the Foxtel light, flickering down the hall, through an opening on the other side of the kitchen.

‘Resist,’ he called after me. ‘Resist seeing it as a progression.’

‘Not a progression,’ I called back. ‘What is it, an orb?’

I laughed to myself again when I’d got down the hall. No, it was not an orb. We were just drinking and talking, laughing and hanging. Now here I was in this strange room, like a bad conclusion: the TV blared massively, bright and flat and loud, and under it, a sulky shape was curled up on the couch.