'Cupboard -far right.'

Kiki tucked her feet back under her. She was cold now, after all. Using the thin rubber edges of the sliding doors as support, she hauled her body up off the ground. A squirrel, whose progress she'd been follOwing, finally succeeded in tearing open the netted ball of fat and nuts Kiki had left for the birds, and now stood just where she'd hoped he would half an hour earlier, right on the flagstones before her, with his question-mark of a tail quivering in the northeaster.

'Zoor, look at this little guy.'

'I never understand that -how do eggs not go in the fridge? You're the only person I have ever met who believes that. Eggs fridge. It's so basic.'

Kiki closed the sliding doors and went over to the cork notice board, where bills and birthday cards, photos and newspaper clippings, were pinned. She began lifting the layers of paper, looking under receipts and behind the calendar. Nothing ever got taken down from here. There was still a picture of the first Bush with a dartboard superimposed over his face . Still, in the top left-hand comer, a huge button bought in New York's Union Square in the mid eighties: I myself have never been able to figure out precisely what feminism is. I only know that people call me a feminist whenever I express sentiments that differentiate me from a doormat. Long ago someone had spilled something on it, and the quote had yellowed and cutled like parchment, shrinking between its plastic and metal covers.

'Zoor, do we still have the pool guy's number? I should call him.

It's getting out ofhand out there.'

Zora shook her head quickly, a vibration ofperplexed clisinterest.

'Eyeano. Ask Dad.'

'Honey, put the extractor fan on. The smoke alarm'lI go.'

Kilti, fearing her daughter's infamous clumsiness, raised her hands to her cheeks as Zora unhooked a frying pan from the collection of same hanging from a rack above the oven. Nothing was dropped. Now the fan machine started up, conveniently loud and insensitive to nuance -mechanical background noise to fill up all the gaps in the room, in the conversation.

'Where is everybody? It's late.'

'I don't even think Levi came home last night. Your dad's asleep, I think.'

'You think? You don't know?'

They looked at each other, the older woman closely examining the younger face. She struggled to find a route through this cool, featureless irony Zora and her friends seemed to cherish so.

'What?' said Zora, archly innocent, repelling genuine inquiry. 'I don't know these things. I don't know what's happening with the sleeping arrangements.' She turned away again and opened the double doors of the fridge, taking a step forward into its cavernous interior. 'I just prefer to leave you two to have your little soap opera. If the drama must continue, it must continue.'

'There's no drama.'

Zora used both hands to lift up a massive carton ofjuice, high and away from her body, like a cup she'd won.

'Whatever you say, Mom.'

Just do me a favour, Zoor -just cool it this mOrning. I'd like to get through the day without everybody yelling.' 'Like [ said -whatever you say.' Kiki sat down at the kitchen table. She worked a wood-wormed groove at its edge with her finger. She could hear Zora's eggs sizzle and spit under the pressure of the cook's impatience, the stench of burning pans already part ofthe process from the moment the gas was lit.

'So where'd Levi get to?' asked Zora brightly.

'] have no idea. ] haven't seen him since yesterday morning. He didn't come back from work.' '] hope he's using protection.' 'Oh, God, Zora.' 'What? You should make a list of the subjects we're not allowed to talk about any more. So ] know.'

'] think he went to a club. I'm not sure. ] can't keep him home.'

'No, Mom,' said Zora in a two-note trill, meant to pacifY the paranoid, the tediously menopausal. 'Of course no one's saying that.' 'As long as he's in on school nights. ] don't know what else I can do. I'm his mother -I'm not a jailer.'

'Look, ] don't care. Salt?'

'On the side -just there.'

'So, you doing anything today? Yoga?'

Kiki flopped forward in her chair and held her calves in both hands. The weight ofherself tugged her further forward than most people. ]f she wanted, she could put her palms flat on the floor.

'] don't think so. I tore something last time.'

'Well, ] won't be here for lunch. ] can only really eat one meal a day at this point. I'm going shopping -you should come,' offered Zora, without enthusiasm. 'We haven't done that in for ever. ] need some new shit to wear. I hate everything] own.'

'You look fine.'

'Right. ] look fine. Except I don't,' said Zora, tugging sadly at her man's nightshirt. This was why Kiki had dreaded having girls: she knew she wouldn't be able to protect them from self-disgust. To that end she had tried banning television in the early years, and never had a lipstick or a woman's magazine crossed the threshold of the Belsey home to Kiki's knowledge, but these and other precautionary measures had made no difference. ]t was in the air, or so it seemed to Kiki, this hatred of women and their bodies -it seeped in with every draught in the house; people brought it home on their shoes, they breathed it in off their newspapers. There was no way to control it.

'I can't face the mall today. ] might go and see Carlene, actually: Zora swivelled round from her eggs. 'Carlene Kipps?'

'] saw her Tuesday -she's not too well, I think. I might take the lasagne in the icebox: 'You're taking a frozen lasagne to Mrs Kipps: said Zora, pointing at Kiki with the wooden spoon in her hand.

'I might do: 'So you're friends now?'

'] think so: 'OK: said Zora dubiously and returned her attention to the stove.

'Is that a problem?'

'I guess not: Kiki closed her eyes for a long beat and awaited the continuation.

'] mean... I guess you know Monty is going for Dad real bad at the moment. He wrote another totally vile piece in the Herald. He wants to give his toxic lectures, and he's accusing Howard ofget this -curtailing his right to free speech. It freaks me out to think about how much that man must just be torn up by self-hatred. By the time he's done we won't have any affirmative action policy at aU, basically. And Howard'll probably be out of a job: 'Oh, I'm sure it's not as serious as all that: 'Maybe you were reading a different article: Kiki heard steel enter Zora's voice. The strength of her daughter's burgeoning will, the adolescent intensity of it, was something they were both discovering together, year on year. Kiki felt herself a whetstone that Zora was sharpening herself against.

'I didn't read it: said Kiki, flexing her own will. 'I'm kind of trying to run with the idea that there's a world outside Wellington: 'I just don't really see the point in taking a lasagne to someone who basically believes you're going to burn in the fires of hell, that's all: 'No, youwouldn't: 'Explain it to me: Kiki conceded the ground with a sigh. 'Let's drop it, OK.'

'Dropped. Duly dropped. Down the big hole where everything gets dropped.' 'How are your eggs?' 'Spiffing,' said Zora, in the tone of the Woosters and pointedly took a seat at the breakfast bar, her back to her mother.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, with the fan doing its useful work. Then, remotely, the television was roused. Kiki watched, but could not hear, a wild gang of raggedy boys, in the hand-me-down sportswear of wealthier countries than their own, career down a tropical back alley. HalfWay between a tribal dance and a riot. They punched their fists in the air and seemed to sing. The next shot was ofanother boy, hurling a simple home-made firebomb. The camera followed its trajectory, showed the explOSion rocking an empty army jeep, which had itself already collided with a palm tree. The channel changed once, twice. Zora settled on the weather: a fiveday forecast that showed the numbers plummeting, steadily but severely. This told Kiki exactly how long she had left to wait. By next Sunday, winter would be here.

'How's school?' Kiki attempted.

'Pine. I'm going to need the car Tuesday night -we're going on a kind offield trip -to the Bus Stop.' 'The club? That'll be fun, right?' 'I guess. It's for Claire's class.' Kiki, who had assumed this already, said nothing. 'So, is that cool?' 'J don't know what you're asking me. The car's cool, sure.' 'I mean, you haven't said anything,' said Zora, directing her comment to the television screen. 'I wouldn't even take this class, but it really ... shit like that counts when it comes to grad school -she's a name, and it's stupid, but it makes a difference.'

'I don't have a problem, Zoor. You're the one making it a problem. It sounds great. Good for you.' They were speaking to each other with tinkling officiousness, like two administrators filling out a form together. 'I guess I just don't want to feel bad about it.'

'Nobody's asking you to feel bad. Have you had your first class?'

Zora skewered a bit of toast on her fork, brought it to her mouth but spoke first. 'We had an initial session -just setting out parameters. Some people read stuff out. It was a pretty mixed bag. Lot of Plath wannabees. I'm not too worried.'

'Right.'

Kiki looked over her shoulder to the garden, and, thinking again about water and leaves and the ways they complicate each other, a memory ofthe summer rose suddenly to the surface ofher mind. 'Didn't that... remember that boy -the handsome one, at the Mozart -didn't he do stuff at the Bus Stop?'

Zora chewed tightly on her toast and spoke only from the very comer ofher mouth. 'Maybe -1 don't really remember.'

'He had such a great face.'

Zora lifted up the remote and changed over to the local public access channel. Noam Chomsky was sitting at a desk. He spoke directly to camera, his large expressive hands making swelling circular movements in front ofhim.

'You don't notice that kind of thing.'

'Mom.'

'Well, it's interesting. You don't. You're very high-minded. That's an admirable quality.'

Zora turned up Noam and leaned towards the screen, ear first.

'1 guess I'm just looking for something a little more... cerebral.'

'Wben I was your age I used to follow boys down the street'cos they looked cute from the back. I liked to watch them shimmy and shake.'

Zora looked at her mother With wonder. 'I'm trying to eatr'

A sound of a door opening. Kiki stood up. Her heart, having inexplicably relocated to her right thigh, beat harshly and threatened to unbalance her. She took a step towards the back hallway.

'Was that Levi's door?'

'1 saw that guy, as it happens ... weirdly ... last week in the street. His name's Carl or something.'

'You did? How was he? Levi -is that you?'

'I don't know how he was, he didn't give me his life story -he seemed fine. He's a little creepy actually. Full of himself to an extent. I think "street poet" just probably means...' said Zora, famng as her mother hurried across the room to greet her son.

'Levi! Good afternoon, baby. I didn't even know you were down there.'

Levi pressed the knuckles of his thumbs into his sleep-encrusted eyes and met his mother and her relief halfway. Without struggle, he allowed himself be taken into the expansive familiariry of her chest.

'Honey, you look bad. What time you get in?'

Levi looked up weakly for a moment before burrowing back in.

'Zora -make him some tea. Poor honey can't speak.'

'Let him make his own tea. The poor honey shouldn't drink so much.' This enlivened Levi. He freed himself from his mother and strode over to the kettle. 'Man, shut up.' 'You shut up.' 'I m'unt drink anything anyhow -I'm just tired. 1 got back late.' 'Nobody heard you come in -1 worry, you know. Where were you)' asked Kiki. 'Nowhere -1just met some guys, I was hanging with them -we went on to a club. It was cool. Mom, is there any breakfast?' 'How was work?' 'Fine. Same. Is there breakfast)' 'These eggs are mi ne,' said Zora, and hunched over, drawing her plate into her chest. 'You know where the cereal is.' 'Shut up.' 'Baby, I'm glad you had a good time, but that's it now. I don't want you out any night this week, OK?' Levi's voice leaped several decibels in his defence: 'I don't even want to go out.' 'Good, because you got SATs and you got to knuckle down right about now.' 'Oh, wait, man -1 got to go out Tuesday.' 'Levi, what did I just say)' 'But I'll be back by eleven. Yo, it's impor' ant.'

'I don't care.'

'Seriously -oh, man -these guys I met -they performing -I'll be back by eleven -it's just the Bus Stop -I can get a cab.' Zora's head perked up from her breakfast. 'Wait -I'm going to the Bus Stop on Tuesday.'

'So?'

'So I don't want to see you there. I'm going with my class.'

'So?'

'Can't you just go some other day?'

'Aw, shut up, man. Mom, a'hma be back by eleven. I've got two free periods on Wednesday. Honestly, man. It's cool. I'll come back with Zora.'

'No, you won't.' 'Yes, he will: said Kiki with finaliry. 'That's the deal. Both back by eleven.'

'What?'

Levi performed a little bop of celebration en route to the fudge, adding a special Jacksonesque spin as he passed Zora's chair. 'Wow, that's unfair: complained Zora. 'This is why I should have gone to college in a different town.'

'You live in this house, you have to help out with family stuff: said Kiki, getting down to fundamentals in order to defend a decision whose unfairness she had already privately registered. 'That's the deal. You don't pay any rent here.'

Zora brought her hands together in penitent prayer. 'That's so gracious, thank you. Thank you for letting me stay in my childhood home.'

'Zoor, don't start messing with me this moming -I mean it, don't even -'

Without anyone noting it, Howard had entered the room. He was fully dressed, even shoed. His hair was wet and combed backwards. It was maybe the first time in a week that Howard and Kiki had stood in the same room like this, albeit ten feet apart, and now with full eye-contact, like two formal, unrelated, full-length portraits turned so as to face each other. While Howard asked the kids to leave the room, Kiki took her time, looking. She saw differently now; that was one ofthe side-effects. Whether the new way of seeing was the truth, she couldn't say. But it was certainly stark, revelatory. She saw every fold and tremble of his fading prettiness. She found she could muster contempt for even his most neutral physical characteristics. The thin, papery, Caucasian nostril holes. The doughy ears sprouting hairs that he was careful to remove and yet whose ghostly existence she continued to catalogue. The only things that threatened to disturb her resolve were the sheer temporal layers of Howard as they presented themselves before her: Howard at twenty-two, at thirty, at forty-five and fiftyone; the difficulty of keeping all these other Howards out of her consciousness; the importance ofnot being sidetracked, ofresponding only to this most recent Howard, the 57-year-old Howard. The liar, the heart-breaker, the emotional fraud. She did not flinch.

'What is it, Howard?'

Howard had just finished ushering his resistant children out of the room. They were alone. He turned round quickly, his face a very nothing. He was at a loss as to what to do with his hands and feet, where to stand, what to rest upon.

There's no "it": he said softly, and pulled his cardigan around himself. 'Particularly. I don't know what that question means. 1tl I mean... obviously, there's everything: Kiki, feeling the power of her position, re-established her folded arms. 'Right. That's very poetic. I guess I'm just not feeling too poetic right now. Is there something you wanted to say to me?'

Howard looked to the floor and shookhis head, disappointed, like a scientist getting no data from an elaborately set-up experiment. 'I see: he said finally and made as if to return to his srudy, but then turned back at the door. 'Umm ... Is there a time when we could talk, properly? Like human beings. Who know each other: For her part, Kiki had been waiting for a hook. That would do. 'Don't you tell me how to behave like a human being. I know how to behave like a human being: Howard looked up at her, eagerly. 'Of course you do: 'Oh,fock you: To accompany this, Kiki did something she hadn't done in years. She gave her husband the finger. Howard looked baffled. In a faraway voice he said, 'No ... This isn't going to work.'

'No, really? Aren't we having good dialogue? Are we not interfacing as you'd hoped? Howard, go to the library.' 'How can I talk to you when you're like this? There's no way for me to talk to you.' His real distress was obvious and for a moment Kiki considered matching it with her own. instead, she grew still harder inside.

'Well, I'm sorry aboUl that.'

Kiki became aware, suddenly, of her own belly and the way it hung over her leggings; she reorganized it under the elastic of her underwear, a move that made her feel more protected somehow, more solid. Howard placed both hands on the sideboard like a lawyer giving his summation to an invisible jury.

'Clearly we need to talk about what's going to happen next. At least... well, the kids need to know.'

Kiki released a flare of laughter. 'Sugar, you're the one who makes the decisions. We just roll with the punches as they come. Who knows what you'll do to this family next. You know? Nobody can know that.'

'Kiki -'

'What? What do you want me to say?'

'Nothing!' flashed Howard, and then he reconstituted his self. control, lowering his voice, clasping his hands together. 'Nothing ... the onus is on me, I know that. It's for me to -to -explain my narrative in a way that's comprehensible... and achieves an ... I don't know, explanation, I suppose, in terms of motivation...'

'Don't worry -I comprehend your narrative, Howard. Otherwise known as, I got your number. We're not in your class now. Are you able to talk to me in a way that means anything?'

To this Howard groaned. He abhorred the reference (an old war-wound in this marriage, continually reopened) to a separation between his ' academic' language and his wife's so-called 'personal' language. She could always say -and often did -'we're not in your class now' and that would always be true, but he would never, never