Axel comes over in an apron with Michelangelo’s David on the front. He’s not quite as tall as Cain but otherwise they could be twins. Maori boys with perennial tans, and salt and pepper hair, although where Cain’s is receding and clipped short, Axel’s is long and slicked back. Both gym junkies and still built like rugby players. Their hands clap together, palms thump backs. The alpha of alphas, Cain had once said, but I love him for it.

Axel steps back now, gives me that grin that belongs on a salesman, or a politician. Dentist-white teeth. He’s not vain but he looks after himself; looks good in designer jeans tight around his muscled thighs and a loose linen shirt. Hard to imagine him as an elite soldier nowadays.

‘You’re a fine wine, Lina. Better every year.’

‘Eventually wine turns rancid,’ I joke.

‘That’s true. You’re not there yet though. Speaking of which. Wine, beer?’

‘Not for me,’ I say. ‘I got called in. Shift starts at eleven.’ Again, the nerves rise all the way to the base of my throat. I feel like I could be sick.

‘You’re joking,’ Claire says now. ‘It’s been so long since we got drunk together.’

‘I wish I was,’ I say, exhaling.

‘You work too hard. Unlike this one.’ Axel gently jabs Cain’s shoulder.

I could blurt out, We’re broke, but it’s hardly what they want to hear.

‘Do you want a glass of juice then, or we’ve got ginger beer?’ Claire offers.

‘I’m fine really,’ I say. I’d tried so often to cut back on my drinking. It wasn’t until we began trying for a kid that I really got on top of it. And now I barely touch alcohol at all. The only people I seem to drink around are these two. Black belts in peer pressure, both of them.

When we sit down to dinner a little while later, Claire has set the table with placemats and coasters.

‘Really?’ Axel says, grinning. ‘Do we need these old things?’

‘We do,’ Claire says. ‘I just want to keep it tidy.’

Axel clicks his tongue, then explains, ‘We’ve got guests staying this weekend.’

‘Guests?’

‘We’re going to head down to Raglan,’ Claire says. ‘We’re renting our place out again on WeStay.’

‘It’s a pain but it’s worth it. You’d do well out of the lake house,’ Axel says to me, spearing a piece of grilled broccolini on his plate. These two are born hustlers.

‘How do you know?’ I say. ‘You’ve never been there. Could be a dump.’

‘I’m sure it’s not, based on the location alone.’