‘Yes, Mack, you’re the one who said that the way we look goes a long way in the drug world. You said you used to show up in your suit and company car, right? That’s how you got so far?’

‘Yeah, but we’re not here to make money, we’re here to —’

‘We’re here to build a brand, so . . . look, your clothes are old and saggy, your hair looks like you did it yourself as a drunken dare. If I saw you in the street I’d probably think about giving you some money so you could find a new sleeping bag.’

He put his hand to his hair. ‘I didn’t do it myself.’

‘And while I like the stubble, it needs to go. Fiona is bringing our friend Richelle over. She’s a hairdresser. We all used to be in the same mothers’ group. She’s gonna tidy you up a bit. While she’s doing that, Fiona and I will pick up some new clothes for you in town.’

‘No, I’m not —’

‘You’re my partner in a business venture,’ said Shelby, ‘so you’re gonna look the part.’

‘This is not a business venture!’ Mackerel stood up.

‘I know it’s not,’ she said, standing as well, ‘but it helps me to think about it that way! You think I like becoming a drug dealer? No, this is a simple case of supply and demand – the right product for the market. And for that to work, we need to be professionals – you’re the one who told me that – and that means we all have to do our bit. That begins with you looking the part!’

Mackerel was still arguing with her when the doorbell rang. Red-faced, he followed Shelby all the way to the door.

Fiona led Richelle in. She was older than Mackerel expected, with short grey hair and heavy make-up. She quickly caught Mackerel’s mood.

‘So you’re the man we’re cleaning up? Well, no use arguing. We’ll set up in the bathroom. Besides,’ she eyed him up and down, ‘I’m curious to see how you scrub up.’

Hours later, Mackerel stood outside, smoking his vape. The sun was bright and in one of Shelby’s prickly wattles he heard the sweet song of an olive whistler. His cheeks felt raw – after his shave, Richelle had insisted on using a pore-cleansing face mask. Mackerel was no stranger to those – at the height of his game, he’d had his own skin care regime morning and evening – but now it all felt alien. He touched the sides of his head, where she’d given him the close-cut fade.

He hated how good it made him feel. It made him feel in control. Respectable.

When Shelby finally got home, she lowered her sunglasses and gave a low wolf-whistle.

‘Look at you, Mack! Now I see the resemblance between you and Davey.’