Today, Tina was playing catch-up because she’d insisted on taking Artie for the morning forgetting she also had a Zoom call scheduled with her film mentees. Now she was flushing and sanitising PVC conduit when she noticed a shadow approaching from behind. It had an odd shape: bulbous in the middle, but only on one side.

‘Hey, Alice,’ she said.

‘Hi,’ said Alice, coming to a stop about ten feet away.

Tina straightened up, a tad breathless. Wiped her forehead with the back of her gloved hand. Joan Didion blinked her soulful eyes as she sniffed the air.

‘You okay?’ Tina asked Alice.

Alice shrugged. ‘I started my period. Talked to the horses.’

Tina had seen Alice eat half of a halloumi sandwich at lunch, so she didn’t ask after her food intake. She’d also clearly showered and was wearing an Amistad tee-shirt and a pair of Bette’s cargo shorts. But still a ghost of herself. And she shouldn’t have to go to the horses for conversation.

‘You wanna sit?’ said Tina, indicating two high stools over by the control desk. ‘You can let Joan Didion down. She’ll be okay.’

Alice shut the door and placed the dog on the tiled floor. Took out her e-cig, normally a big no-no but Tina could always read a room. Joan Didion padded over to a row of tomato plants and nosed them while Tina went back to work, racking her brain for a safe topic, something light and optimistic that—

‘So I guess I’m gonna be single now and die alone.’

Tina didn’t even get a chance to pooh-pooh before Alice continued.

‘I just have to get okay with it. It’s called radical acceptance. Doctor Weiss says I have to stop wanting shit to be different or not blow, and then I won’t give a fuck.’ She took a puff. ‘I’m paraphrasing.’

‘Alice—’

‘I just don’t wanna lose the kids, y’know?’ 

‘You won’t. You have rights.’

‘I know.’

‘You should talk to Joyce.’

Zzz-bkkk. She checked her phone: another ticket from the General. A wisp of irritation inclined her to ignore it. She wouldn’t, but for now Alice clearly needed to unload.

‘Starting over at fifty-two . . . Who am I, my mother? I don’t wanna live like that. I don’t wanna date. I want a home and a person. I thought I had it. I really thought I had it.’