'No,' I say, taking a shallow toke. 'I'm a translator.'

'Excuse me. What? You do transplants transplants?'

'No. Languages Languages. I translate foreign languages.'

Tess nods but I'm not sure she gets it.

'So I guess it doesn't matter what you look like, then. For that kind of a job, am I right?'

'Well, you know. It's not so important.'

'That's great,' she says, beaming at me. 'That really is. I actually admire you actually.'

'Do you?'

'Yes,' she says, eagerly. 'You're happy with yourself. That's such a rare quality these days. I mean, I think you're sort of brave. I don't think I could go out with that on my face.'

'What on her face?' Huey says.

'Moustache,' whispers Tess, pointing at me then tapping her upper lip.

'I mean, I think it's great that you don't care about it, but just in case, you should know, I have some spare hot wax in the bathroom. I know girls are all hairy in Europeyou don't shave your armpits, right? Or douche, am I right? But this is Miami. You might want to think about...you know, getting rid of it. Just Just while you're here.' while you're here.'

Michael seems to think this is hysterical; high and sleep-deprived he's practically convulsing on the floor. I decide to cut my losses and go to bed, and Huey does the decent thing by confiscating Tess's tin of olives and showing me into the spare bedroom. I walk in, close the door and collapse. The mattress is thin and smells of mildew, it's gooey and lumpy all at the same time. Michael is still out there: laughing, chatting, getting stoned, getting drunk, trying on some of Huey's spare hats. I turn out the light and fall asleep like a brick. I dream I've been committed to a nut house.

G.o.d's Waiting Room

'Morning, Claire. You sleep OK?'

I wasn't expecting anyone to be up yet, but Tess is already making pancakes in the kitchen.

'I love pancakes, don't you? They're the best. I could eat this entire stack if you let me. Here, let me fix you some coffee.'

I don't say anything. It's just her and me. I sit down.

'Sorry about last night,' she says, sweetly. 'I can be a bit full-on when you first meet me. I know it doesn't seem like it, but I'm actually a very shy type of person. I'm hoping the breast augmentation will help out with that. You know, showcase the true inner me.'

She smiles, hands me a cracked mug of coffee.

'Well, that's OK.,' I say. 'Don't worry. And thanks, you know, for...'

'...the hot wax?'

I nod.

'Sure, no problem. Did it hurt?'

'Yeah, it did. A little bit.'

She grins. She has some advice.

'So, you might want to think about taking a Valium the next time. Just ask me. Whenever. I've got plenty. When I get my bikini line waxed I always make sure to take a couple of Valium before they start. You have to try it, it's fantastic. They could whip off both your eyebrows and all your a.s.s hair while they were at it. You'd barely feel a thing.'

Tess piles half a dozen sweet smelling pancakes on to my plate, loads me up with blueberries and a generous slug of maple syrup, and sprinkles the dish with sugar and cinnamon. She watches me intently, she's keen to know what I think.

'They're delicious,' I say, meaning it. 'Really, they're very, very good.'

'I know,' she says, contentedly. 'I'm a great cook. It's part of what Huey loves so much about me. It's weird, though, him and me,' she says fixing herself a plate. 'The two of us are always arguing with each other. We're always splitting up and getting back together again. Once a month at least, sometimes twice. Huey says I annoy him, which is rich, you know what I'm saying? Because he's he's the one that annoys me.' the one that annoys me.'

'The bald thing?'

'No.'

'The hat thing?'

'No.'

'The noise? The chattering teeth?'

'No, not so much.'

She narrows her eyes.

'I'd have to say, if I had to pick one thing, it's more the way that he likes to do a.n.a.l all of the time. In all of my years, of all all the men I've slept with, I've never met a guy so into a.n.a.l.' the men I've slept with, I've never met a guy so into a.n.a.l.'

'Right, uh...I see.'

'Then, of course, there's his taste in music. He's crazy for modern jazz, like Michael is, right? And I can't stand the stuff, never could. Why not have a tune? Would it kill them? Would it kill them to put the notes into some kind of an agreeable order?'

I shake my head. I don't think it would.

'Anyway,' she says, popping a blueberry into her mouth, 'despite all of that, the jazz and the a.n.a.l and the coupons and everything...'

'The coupons?'

'Huey collects coupons. He has a drawer full of them. Money off of soup, soap, foot spray, sanitary towels...there's nothing you can think of to buy, that Huey won't have a coupon for it somewhere. I can hardly stand to go shopping with him any more. It takes him so long to sort through them.'

'Wow, that must be...'

'Annoying, right? It's annoying. But I still happen to think that we're soul mates. I still happen to think we're meant to be. Must be the same with you and Michael. I mean, divorcing and getting back together all over again. You must have something special, the two of you, like Elizabeth Taylor and...?'

'Richard Burton?'

'Yeah, right right. Richard Burton. I loved him in The G.o.dfather The G.o.dfather, didn't you? He was so so good-looking when he was younger. It's such a shame he let himself get fat. He was gross, right? Totally gross.' good-looking when he was younger. It's such a shame he let himself get fat. He was gross, right? Totally gross.'

Tess sighs hard and lays down her fork. Apart from the blueberry and a dab of syrup that she's licked off her index finger, she's barely taken a bite. She rubs her stomach, indicating that she's full and throws her uneaten pancakes into the bin. She immediately sets about making fresh batter: for Huey, for Michael, for me if I'm still hungry, for the pleasure of stirring and frying. Her own reward, it turns out, is entirely confined to the preparation.

'So,' she says, cracking another egg into the bowl, 'I've been thinking some about you and your runaway brother, Michael told us the whole story last night. It's so sad, and also a little weird if you don't mind me saying so.'

Weird. She thinks my my life is weird. life is weird.

'Anyway,' she says, getting busy with the whisk. 'I've been thinking that there's someone you ought to go see.'

'Really, who?'

'My psychic, Madam Orla. She does my cards for me every couple of months. She's so tuned in, it's actually frightening. For example, she told me that Huey and I would end up getting back together last year, and we did. And this was when we were going through a really rough patch, so no one could really have predicted it.'

'I see.'

'And another time she told me my career was about to take off. And the very next day who who should I b.u.mp into?' should I b.u.mp into?'

'The friend of Lenny Kravitz's hairdresser?'

'Exactly. How'd you guess? Don't you think that's impressive? Don't you think that's spot on? You have to let her read your tarot cards, Claire. She has a long wait list these days but I'm a regular. If I call her up now I can probably get us an appointment for this afternoon.

'Tess...I don't know. I'm not sure.'

'Trust me, you'll love her. I can tell you two would really hit it off. And she's got like this sixth...no, wait wait, it's more like a seventh seventh sense or something. I bet she'll have a good idea where your brother's at.' sense or something. I bet she'll have a good idea where your brother's at.'

I let Tess down as gently as I can. I realise she's trying to do a nice thing but frankly, I don't have time to waste on some cheap, back-room psychic and the musings of an anorexic dope head. I tell her that I have a lot of things to do today. I have to visit the port and talk to the harbour master, and I want to visit the apartment block where my family used to live. Tess is pretty nice about it all. She says we can see Madam Orla another time. She thinks she'll call her up anyway, just to check. She thinks Miami Beach must have changed a fair bit since I was last here. I tell her that it has.

'More hotels, right? More high rise? And not so many old people. You'll notice that right away when you go out today, there's far less retirees down here now. You know what they used to call Miami Beach in the old days?' she says, 'before it got itself all spruced up and rejuvenated?'

'No,' I say. 'I don't know.'

'G.o.d's waiting room, that's what they called it. Don't you think that's kind of creepy? Doesn't that sort of creep you out? I mean I like old people well enough, the cute ones, but I don't like the idea of the whole island filled up with them. I mean you've got to admire this place, right? For reinventing itself like it has. Twenty years ago it was all decrepit and dangerous and full of old folk, and now it's shiny and hip and full of models. And all it took was a TV programme and a lick of paint. Don't you think that's amazing? You see how easily it can happen, right?'

I nod. I tell her that I do.

'Michael says your dad worked in construction,' she says. 'When you lived over here. Is that right?'

'Sort of. He was overseeing the refurbishment of one of the big hotels on Ocean Drive. It was a total wreck before they started.'

'How come he ended up here?' she says, quizzically. 'I'm guessing art deco was his thing, right?'

'Not really, not that I know of. It all happened pretty quickly, us coming out here. I'm not even sure how he got the job.'

'See,' says Tess, slapping her hands together. 'That's what's so great great about Miami. It's such a welcoming kind of place. There's so many different types of people living down here, all different types of persuasions and nationalities. What do you call that? When you've got a totally interesting mix of different peoples?' about Miami. It's such a welcoming kind of place. There's so many different types of people living down here, all different types of persuasions and nationalities. What do you call that? When you've got a totally interesting mix of different peoples?'

'Diversity?'

'Exactly. You got it in one. That's what I like the best, the diversity. For instance, you can go get yourself a table at a restaurant and you'll just as likely find yourself sitting next to De Niro or Stallone as you would find yourself sitting next to me and Huey. You can be anything you like in Miami. It's a real equal opportunities kind of place. It just helps, you know, if you're beautiful and rich, but that's like anywhere, right?'

I don't have time to offer up an answer. There's a sudden piercing scream from down the hall that sounds like it's coming from the bathroom. It's followed by a frantic, high-pitched whine.

'Jesus, no,' says Tess. 'Not again. Huey! Huey! Go check on the snake.' Go check on the snake.'

'Come on, it's not that that bad, is it? bad, is it?

'Michael, they're freaks, they've got no boundaries. He's weird, he's neurotic, she's nosey, she doesn't eat. She makes a living letting tourists pose with her pet boa constrictor.'

'You want to go to a hotel? Fine then, we'll go to a hotel.'

'It could have killed you. It could have squeezed you to death.'

'It only got as far as my leg. It looked a lot worse than it was.'

'That's why you screamed so loudly is it? That's why you were trying to poke its eye out with your toothbrush?'

'Look, I'll check out some prices, but it's not going to be cheap. We're right in the middle of high season.'

'And he's s.e.xually deviant, did you know that?'

'The snake snake?'

'No, not the snake, Michael, Huey Huey. Tess says he only does a.n.a.l s.e.x.'

'Well...strictly speaking, that's not...deviant, exactly. I mean, if that's what he's into...'

We're stood on the corner of Collin's Avenue in the baking heat, waiting for our rental car to be delivered. I'm having something approaching a mild panic attack. It could be the jet-lag or the effects of last night's joint, but I suspect that it's something far worse. My palms are sweating and my lungs are seizing up and my words feel tight in my throat. I'm hopelessly out of my depth here. Marooned in this strange city, with all of its bad memories, my brain feels under attack. I just can't seem to get my bearings. It all looks so much different than it did. I'm not sure I know how to do this. I'm not sure I know how to start. I feel like I'm sliding down the insides of a giant greasy pipe that's about to deposit me into the ocean.

'Come on,' says, Michael, gently. 'The car will be here in a minute, you'll feel much better when we're mobile. And we have a plan don't we, the two of us?'

I nod, he strokes the back of my neck.

'We'll visit the port first, then we'll go to your old apartment building...and tomorrow we'll find the hotel where your dad worked.'

I stare into my ex-husband's face. Concentrate hard on his mouth and his lips. On his eager, uncomplicated eyes.

'Better now?'

I think so. A little bit.

'Hey, here it comes, that's our car?'

Low. Shiny. Black. Topless. Delivered by a man in silver shades.

'What is it?'

'Mustang.'

'Convertible?'

'Of course.'