‘You love Dan.’

‘Whatever.’ I shrugged.

In a way it was true, but not in the way you could sit there at the kitchen bench and accuse somebody with. I loved Dan like I loved Vegemite, more than that even, but not in the way that you would dress up in a jockstrap and bury like a secret.

‘I didn’t think you’d say yes,’ he said.

‘I didn’t,’ I said.

His eyes widened. He looked so hopeful.

‘Oh, but you’re right though,’ I said.

He bit his fist. He said, ‘Then you know where you should be.’

I liked that this was also true, but not for the reason he believed.

I had fifty in my wallet and twentyish in the bank, both of which were meant to take me through to my next Centrelink payment. Le sigh, I would have to spend; I conjured up an Uber.

Even though it was New Year’s Eve, a purple dusky hour, the traffic snarl had cleared. The trip was propitiously not surge-priced. The adrenaline was pumping as I waved goodbye to Richmond. The wind had picked up again; the curtains streamed after me, making the whole suburb seem abandonable and lonely. I realised I had failed in my only mission, a towel retrieval mission. But it was too late to turn around.

‘Are you okay?’ asked the driver.

‘Yes,’ I said.

We swung left onto Johnston.

‘I’m a little quiet tonight.’

‘That’s fine,’ the driver said.

Now we were on Nicholson Street, where so recently I’d been in the car with the Richmond Man, driving in the opposite direction . . .

‘Just a busy day with work,’ I said.

‘It’s no problem at all.’

The driver pulled slowly onto Brunswick Road, then circled towards our house.

‘Hey, have a nice night,’ the driver said.

The car slowed down and stopped.

In my pocket, my phone buzzed.

I got out and picked it up.

It was an unknown number.

‘Hello?’ I said.

‘Hiiii,’ it said.

It was Chris L.

‘Hi Chris L,’ I said. ‘How did you get my number?’

The driver pulled away.

He said, ‘I have to ask you something.’

With keys in hand, I closed my eyes. I tongued my tattered cheeks.

‘Sure,’ I said.

‘Is Vivian with you?’

I opened my eyes.

‘What do you mean?’ I said. ‘No.’

I slid in my key.

‘Where are you, Chris L? Are you at home?’

‘No,’ he said. ‘I’m at the beach.’

‘After checkout?’ I said dumbly.

‘All his things are here.’

His voice was crackly, ghostly.

‘That doesn’t make any sense,’ I said. ‘Is the car still there?’

‘Yes,’ he said, ‘it’s my rental. I don’t know what to do.’

‘Do you have his parents’ number?’

‘No,’ he said. ‘Can you come back here?’

I shook my head, of course not. ‘I don’t think so,’ I said.

‘I don’t want to be alone here!’

I shook my head again. ‘No,’ I said.

‘I don’t know what to do,’ he said.