Lachlan had a fun mirrored tray in one of his hands, the other held a rolled-up fiver and a Myki.

‘We used it up,’ said Lachlan. ‘We only had a bit.’

Dan did a sniffle. ‘Sorry.’

‘That’s fine,’ said Chris L, appearing from behind them. ‘Here.’ From the folds of his billowing shawl emerged a clean-lined wallet and, from within that, a cap-containing bag. There were three caps in there, with stoved tips and squished-in middles.

‘How long have you had these?’ I said.

‘Ages.’

‘Perfect,’ I said. ‘How much do I owe you?’

‘Nothing,’ he said.

I was still addled from the sun and drink, but the vision of a lemony thing in black-eyed sunglasses – it was too lovely and generous. My eyes began to tear.

‘It’s okay,’ Chris L said. ‘You brought the bread and everything.’

‘There’s heaps of bread,’ I told him, dashing for the kitchen.

‘Um, I don’t think anyone’s hungry,’ said Dan.

I took one cap, Chris L took another. We offered the third to Vivian, who was sitting on the couch and looking at a Wikitravel guide to this peninsula, reading about the kinds of things we would not do in the morning, like hike to a koala sanctuary or visit a lavender farm. ‘I’m fine, mates,’ he said. ‘Can’t put things up your nose after thirty.’

‘It’s not meant to go up your nose,’ I said.

He looked at me patiently. ‘I’m fine, thanks,’ he said.

So Chris L and I decided to split the last cap, which Chris L facilitated by striking the cap on the edge of his palm, loosening its contents, then carefully sliding half of the cap away from the other, really having to work at it and risk a gel collapse. He tapped out its ugly contents and divided them into two grimy shapes; I raised my finger to scoop up the grime, but he said, ‘just lick it,’ so I looked meaningfully at Dan and I licked Chris L’s palm. Dan smiled, but he would have been slightly impressed by anything right then and wholly impressed by nothing, he was universally interested and universally registering, looking all around the house at everything at once. I scrambled for another drink to block the bitter crystals, a yellow-brown taste, chemical and twisted. There was more Moscato. It was just as icky.

It took ages to come on, and by the time it did the four of us were truly settled back out on the decking, the sun having sunk inside a glossy screen of black. Dan and Lachlan were both on a completely different wavelength, smoking menthols and edgily touching each other’s shoulders, squinting very seriously at each other before speaking. They weren’t really saying anything – comments on the house, comments on the furnishings – but whatever they said, it was articulate and grave.