and Ruth. Her email to Michael about the reunion had bounced back. From the living room came the opening chords of a song that was number one for the summer she learned to drive. Someone shouted, ‘Maya, we’ve got the whole night to get through, pace yourself!’
Dorothy stepped back from the photo room and into a girl of five or six. ‘Hello,’ she said. ‘Can’t you sleep?’
‘The music’s annoying me,’ the girl said.
‘Come on. I’ll take you back to bed.’
The girl led the way up the stairs, along a hallway and into her bedroom, which was decorated with richly coloured taffetas and sparkling hanging mirrors that sent spangles floating over the walls. ‘Wow,’ Dorothy said. ‘This is amazing.’
‘It’s like a princess,’ the girl said. She hopped into bed and leaned over to turn on the slowly rotating nightlight.
Dot blocked one ear with a finger and listened. ‘You can’t really hear the music from here.’
‘Yes but it was when I got a drink of water,’ the girl said. ‘From the bathroom.’
‘I see. Do you think you’re going to be able to sleep now?’
The girl plonked her head down on the pillow. ‘Yes.’ She clutched a plush toy puppy to her and closed her eyes. The lids trembled. Stars from the nightlight wandered over the bed, stretching and shrinking on the contours of her face.
‘Goodnight,’ said Dot. ‘Do you want me to send Mummy up?’
The girl nodded, her eyes emphatically shut. ‘Yes.’
The woman with the legs asked if Dorothy knew where the bathroom was.
‘There’s one upstairs. I think it’s all right to go up.’
‘Can you show me?’ Her name was Monique and she was the second wife of a boy from school, the boy who had now become the man sitting on the black couch being fed champagne. Monique was a decorator. On the way up the smoothly carpeted stairs, no fuzz gathered in the angles of the risers, she speculated on the cost of the leadlight windows, the oak ceiling beams, the glass bricks in the kitchen, the marble bench tops and the under-floor heating in the bathroom, asking Dorothy to guess how much the house was worth.
‘I know nothing about real estate, sorry. There are children sleeping,’ Dorothy whispered.
Monique drew her into the bathroom by the elbow. The women smiled at each other in the mirror. Monique’s smile was toothy, almost goofy, and her eyes glinted.
‘Who’s that guy you’re with again?’ Dorothy asked.
‘Ian Abernethy.’
‘I don’t remember him.’
‘He doesn’t remember anyone. He’s had an accident. Rock climbing. No helmet.’
‘The guy on the sofa? That’s him? Oh. I’m so sorry.’
‘Yeah, but he wanted to come, he’s doing pretty well apart from can’t use his arms for some stuff or really walk. And he talkth like thith.’ She was rootling in her silver leather shoulder bag and pulled out a small envelope and from the envelope took a pill, which she bit in half. She ran some water into a tooth mug and swallowed the half that was still in her mouth, waving her fingers in front of her lips and making a face. She offered the other half to Dorothy, who said, ‘No thanks.’
Monique shrugged and popped the second half in her mouth, gulping some of the water that flowed from Maya’s shiny bathroom mixer tap. She pulled at the ends of her hair and wet her fingers in the small ring of water collected around the plughole of Maya’s basin. ‘Design flaw,’ she said, and brushed a finger over each eyebrow. Then suddenly she was at the toilet and lifting the lid and pulling her skirt up and her knickers down. Dorothy slipped out the door and stood on Maya’s thick carpet and saw herself reflected in the full-length mirror on the landing opposite. From the bathroom there was the light scooshing sound of Monique’s pee hitting the water in the bowl, followed by the whirlpooly flush.
They stood in the doorway to Maya’s bedroom counting the pillows on the bed. ‘It’s like how many jellybeans are in the jar,’ Dorothy whispered.
‘Any more than four pillows is disgusting,’ said Monique. ‘What’s next, soft toys? Let’s get a drink.’
Master bedroom: one of the phrases Daniel used to use to make her squirm. They heard Maya coo, ‘Goodnight,’ in her daughter’s doorway, and ducked into the bedroom and pulled the door shut. Dorothy flapped her hands to indicate that they should go out and front up, but Monique gripped her shoulders, holding her in place. A pulse thudded in Dot’s ears, as though there