I looked up at him and at the hand he was offering.

And, after a moment, I took it.

26

Amazingly, as we saw Bette and Leonie off I remembered Bette’s letter. I handed it to her through the window and told her it was from yesterday. She looked at it and then at me, and then slotted it into her clasp-top handbag as Leonie hefted their shopping bags into the back of the ute and Basil lifted his bike out of the tray.

As the ute pulled away with Bette and Leonie inside, I said, ‘You guys certainly need a lot of groceries.’

‘What?’ said Basil.

‘Today and yesterday.’

‘Oh, yeah, right. Um, cousins, and such . . .’ he said and petered out. ‘Come on, hop on. I’m going to show you something neat.’ And he patted the wire rack sitting above the rear mudguard. ‘Your bum-breaking chariot awaits.’

Despite everything, I laughed.

The minute we began riding, Basil began talking nonstop, trying to convince me that he was an expert rider. He needed to convince me, because with me on the back he certainly was not. He was heading uphill, riding up the hill on the other side of town, and the force it took for him to pedal meant he was standing up waggling his bum near my head and wobbling from side to side.

‘You sure I shouldn’t just jump off and we can push it up the hill?’ I said. ‘This kind of hurts.’

‘Nope,’ he said in a strained voice. ‘I can totally do this.’

‘If you say so.’

He huffed and my legs flailed out either side of the bike and finally, before we had even reached the top, Basil’s legs stalled and gave in. And when the bike toppled and we both hit the grass at the side of the road and Basil lay on the ground puffing and groaning, and still trying to convince me how good he usually was, I let out a cackle. I couldn’t help it.

‘Glad you’re amused,’ he said. ‘I bet your boyfriend never did anything like that for you.’

And then I stopped laughing and put my head in my hands.

‘Shit, I’m sorry,’ said Basil.

‘Not your fault,’ I said, and began to cry, really cry, staring down at the ground between my feet as the sobs came and the tears dripped off my nose and into the dirt. It was the laughing that had done it. Basil had made me relax, made me laugh, and then it had all come rushing up.

He sat next to me, quietly, but not awkwardly. He didn’t say anything, or pat me, or hug me, or try to cheer me up. It was unexpected. I’d have thought any sign of emotion from me and he’d dance around like a puppy trying to fix it, to fix me. But he didn’t. He sat and waited, and eventually I stopped crying, and he said, ‘What if we just push the bike to the top, if it upsets you so much.’ And then I was laughing again.