Although Vincent’s problem was more that he felt he shouldn’t talk at all. He’d walked in the door of the Navy recruiting office on 12 September 2001, thinking he was lining up to do some good in the world. Maybe it was the fact of feeling personally affected—seeing the footage of the planes hit the towers in his city, walking outside and literally seeing the smoke above the river—maybe standing too close had distorted the perspective. He felt he would be part of a fight and a project that was new and worthwhile, but looking back he didn’t see anything positive. All that death and misery, the war in Iraq looked like something that should have been avoided, if you’d at least heard about what happened in Vietnam—or in Iraq the first time around. So how did you face up to people who’d known that all along? It’s not like they had some secret view of history. Everyone had the same information, except some people seemed to think that the past didn’t count. So on some level they must be thinking that you’re culpable for the damage, in your own small way.

Beauden clicked his fingers. ‘Come in.’

‘I’m still here. How you been, anyway?’

‘You asked me that the other week.’

Yeah, he had. And now seeing Beauden get through two quick beers and signal for a third, he felt it was worth asking again. The waiter brought the bottle, and a moment later Beauden had the level down past the neck. He smacked his lips and sighed. ‘Yeah. I’m doing all right. I think … I dunno, maybe we’re different. I find more and more I have to put a system in place. I mean, for handling the day. You know: All right, I’m gonna do this, and then this, and then that.’ Moving his hand edgewise on the table, one thing to the next. ‘Otherwise time just seems to pass. I don’t know. It’s like people when they’re young, they’re looking forward all the time, and then you reach a certain age, you start looking backward—like, only things with value have already happened. I think I’m into the backward part too soon.’ He took a drink. ‘But, uh.’ He shrugged. ‘Maybe it’s just because there’s a lot to try to get my head around.’ He looked at the bottle, held it up to the light before he took another mouthful. ‘But we’ll get there.’ He looked up and smiled. ‘That’s why I worry about you mixed up in all this shit: you’re supposed to be the normal one.’

‘Normal, huh? You’ve got to be kidding.’

Vincent’s phone buzzed. He checked the screen and saw a message from Erin: Can I see you please?

‘I better leave you to it.’

‘Ms Jones need tucking in?’