…We're all up at the crack of dawn. Beachy's mum is fussing over me, giving me a towel and saying breakfast will be in five minutes. Breakfast! And cooked for me. The excitement goes to my head. I'm in the bathroom, leaning against the basin for a closer look in the mirror, and I don't see a drawer under the basin until this vicious scissor-type weapon leaps out of it and stabs me. The room reels. Blood squirts everywhere. And the pain. Indescribable.

I ease the daks down with considerable care and caution, and lie on the bench when in walks this lady doctor. ‘Just let's see what's happening here,’ she goes, whips the sheet off with one hand lifts them up. Turns them around. At least they're still attached.

She dabs them with cotton wool and looks at me. ‘Mmm,’ she goes and gives them another twirl. ‘I don't know why there's so much blood. It's only a little prick.’

…I'm woken by a crash and bang and squealing and clanking, and someone's stumbling down my path. I glance at the clock. 4.37. There's only one person it could be.

‘Don't worry about it,’ I mumble, minimally embarrassed, and pull her up the bed a bit.

‘I can't help it,’ she sobs. ‘I've tried to forget you and I can't, Perr.’

This bungalow attracts crying women. I'm wiping her face with my doona when there's more racket outside and Mum's clomping up to the door.

‘What on earth are you doing here, Sonya?’ she's yelling, which makes Sonya cry louder.

‘But,’ she blurts, ‘I love him, Mrs Merritt.’ My ears are electrified. It's loud enough for the entire neighbourhood to hear.

‘I think you've been drinking,’ says my mother. Like, the old Son's totally off her face…