'What's it like?'

Roza blew out smoke. 'It's mad,' she said. She described the fundraising events and the rallies, the zealots and the sycophants, the bursts of hostility from pa.s.sers-by, the trembling fans who seized David's hand in the street and wouldn't let go. Fleetingly she thought of Simon Lampton, his intensity, his air of unwillingness, but she stuck to funny anecdotes, sensed the success of her monologue and felt herself falling into the old pattern: she was back with Tam, laughing at the world. At the same time she knew that she was singing for her supper. She paused.

Tam laughed.

Sweat broke out on Roza's forehead. There was something dangerous in that laugh. She had forgotten how sharp Tam was. Maybe she had underestimated how insulted Tam would be to have her turn up like this, after years of silence, playing at being friends. Every time she felt Tam holding back her desire was twisted tighter. She felt trapped, and she thought Tam sensed it. This was what addiction was: keeping what you wanted hidden, being tormented by it, lying and play-acting in the most shameful way. And if people sensed your need they held out on you. Roza was starting to panic. She hadn't done anything except smoke a cigarette but she was deep in, and frightened. She needed to get up and walk out, just leave, no explanation. She put her hands on the arms of the chair.

Tam said, 'I've missed you too.'

Roza went still. Tam gazed away, over the sunlit pool, and said, 'You look stressed.'

Roza murmured, 'It's been nerve-wracking. I really am sure the b.a.s.t.a.r.d's bonking his secretary.' A voice howled in her head. Shame. Shame. 'And his kids are slightly f.u.c.ked up. The girl's all right but the boy can't stand me. I'm the wicked stepmother.' This is hateful, she thought. This is not me, this is the sick Roza. Again she put her hands on the arm of the chair.

Tam said, 'You want a coffee.'

Roza stared.

'I've got a little something we could put in it.'

Roza gave a snicker. Her mouth twitched. 'Mmm,' she said weakly. They looked at each other with sudden warmth and complicity. Like a s.e.xual moment, Roza thought, as Tamara went into the house. The word 'Peach' was written across the b.u.m of Tam's sweatpants.

Roza stretched out, letting the sun fall on her legs. She was washed out, floating, closing her eyes and seeing little red sunsets ablaze against her lids. She thought, sometimes you can't hold out any more. Then there's just the letting go.

She drifted, waiting for Tam. Silence, only the slop slop of water against the side of the pool. When Tamara came back with two coffees and a little plastic bag of powder Roza screwed up her eyes and laughed. A bird flew swiftly overhead, its shadow flashing across the deck. She watched, held in the moment, as Tam upended the bag of powder, licking a bit off her long nail. Roza's panic had gone, she was calm and still. A blow-up toy drifted across the pool. Clouds moved, the light dimmed and brightened, steam curled and slipped above the coffee cups. Tamara smiled.

'Cheers, darling.'

'Chin-chin.'

A man came to do the pool. He greeted the two glamorous housewives, drinking their third cup of morning coffee. When Roza got up to leave she was so stoned she walked into the gla.s.s ranchslider, thinking it was open. Tamara held her and they rocked with laughter. Roza went to the bathroom and looked at herself in the mirror. Her expression was jubilant, her head reeled. She came out and found Tam flirting with the pool man.

They walked out to her car. 'Come back soon,' Tam said. A wave of birds flapped out of the trees in the park and swirled in the air.

'I'm just thinking,' Tam said, her eyes on the birds, 'it's so crazy you being the wife of you know who and doing what we've been doing.'

Roza laughed, 'Well, don't tell. You're the only person I trust.'

They'd always made a big thing of knowing each other's secrets. Roza knew about Tam's abortions, her drug habits, about the time she'd caught two STDs at once. Tam thought she knew everything about Roza but she didn't; Roza just let her think she did. Tam didn't know about Elke, because when Roza had met Myron Jannides, she'd left Tam behind.

'You'll have to come over for dinner,' Roza said. But she knew she would never invite her. She might come back here, but she wouldn't let Tam into her and David's house.

'That'd be great,' Tam said, her eyes turning hard, as if she knew Roza wasn't sincere.

Roza drove to work and told everyone she wasn't sick after all. She sat at her desk. Her throat was dry and sore and she kept grinding her teeth as she powered through the things she had to do, clearing her inbox at high speed, sending waves of lucid emails, dealing with things she'd been putting off for days. She worked through lunch, with the sense that the air around her was thick and silvery, that she was swimming through it. All her movements were controlled by the liquidy pressure and she was graceful, powerful.

Later, Ellen went to a meeting and Roza took Ray Marden's ma.n.u.script out of her bag. She'd secretly read through it to the end and noted her corrections on every page. Two days ago she'd decided to throw it away; now, in her new, heightened state, braced and heartened by Tamara's magic potion, she realised what a waste that would be. She'd been ridiculously afraid. All that worrying was completely unnecessary. Okay, Marden was considered toxic, the rapist cop who would taint anyone who went near him, but that was just people being ... cowardly. She decided she could send him the corrected ma.n.u.script, and tell him she was doing it privately. She could ask him please to be discreet and he would understand her position. It would be a favour, a kindness, to a hated pariah. What was wrong with that? How constrained she'd felt by her position - nearly the wife of the prime minister. David was paranoid about his image and his reputation, but he didn't need to worry. His popularity was high; he was going to win. Roza drew in a sharp breath.

'You look pleased with yourself.'

Cheryl was standing in the doorway.

'Well. It's a mad old world,' Roza said. 'I'm nearly the wife of the PM.'

Cheryl paused. She raised an eyebrow. 'Lucky old you,' she said.

Roza said, talking fast, 'There's gotta be some perks that go with it. Some world trips.' She smiled hugely.

'No doubt.' Cheryl laid a file on the desk without taking her eyes off Roza.

'I'm not giving up working here, though. I love it.'

'Keeping in touch with the common people.'

'Oh yeah. All you commoners. You know I love you.'

There was a silence. Roza rubbed her eyes. 'I was just thinking about Ray Marden. You know, his book.'

Cheryl studied her fingernails. 'We saw him in St Lukes the other day. We got a good look at him. He is the most evil-looking guy. Just totally horrible. Like the incredible, you know.'

'Hulk.'

'Yeah. The Incredible Hulk ... What's the matter?'

'Nothing,' Roza said, shaking. 'It's just funny, that's all.' She waved her hand. 'The Incredible Hulk.'

'Well. I'm glad you're in such a good mood.'

'Yeah,' Roza sighed. When she looked up Cheryl had gone. She blinked.

She closed her door, picked up the phone and rang Ray Marden.

He answered.

She rushed straight in. 'Ray Marden? I work for AT Press. We turned down your book, as you know, but I wonder if I could have a word.'

'Yeah ...?' He was puzzled, surly. Cautious.

'I've been through your ma.n.u.script and I've edited it for you. I've done this on my own time. No one else was willing to do it. No one else ... what I mean is ...'

'I'm sorry, what are you saying?'

Roza said slowly, 'I've read your ma.n.u.script. I've given you some suggestions for editing. Do you want me to send it to you?'

'But ...' He was confused.

'I've just done it privately because I was sorry no one would help you. Do you understand what I'm saying?'

He was quiet.

'I could send it to you. Put. It. In. The. Post.' Roza checked herself. Was she talking too loud? 'It's just some copy-editing, well a huge amount of editing actually. The thing is you'll never get your book published the way it is, but no one's going to help you with it. So I've been through it in my own time.'

Another silence. Really, how long was he going to take to get it through his thick skull?

She said, 'I can just chuck it away if you like.'

'No. You've got editing ... You've done editing. Could I meet with you?'

Roza screwed up her face in a silent laugh. Steady on. Let's not get carried away, mate. 'No. I'll post it to you.'

'I would like to discuss it with you. Like you said, no one's willing to help me.'

Roza hesitated. She hadn't thought of meeting him, but why not? Why shouldn't she meet an aspiring author and give him a few tips?

He said, 'Can I ask what your name is?'

Roza said, 'I don't really want people at work to know I'm doing this. So can you not tell anyone here?'

'Sure. Why would I talk to them, anyway?'

'My name is ... Sue.'

'Okay. Sue. Thank you for looking at my work. Maybe we could have a coffee and a talk about it.'

'Well, it might be possible. Where?'

He suggested a cafe. Roza said no, not a cafe.

Another silence.

Roza said, 'What about the Domain, by the greenhouses? That place they call the kiosk. You can buy a coffee and sit at the picnic tables outside.' The park, daytime, during the week - there wouldn't be anyone around.

'I could do that.'

He suggested a day and time. Roza said, 'Fine. I'll bring the ma.n.u.script and the notes. Just don't mention it to anyone.'

She hung up and began fitfully straightening the papers on her desk. Why not, she thought. It's time to face the world, to stop hiding away. Meeting Ray Marden. A little charity work. She gritted her teeth and fiddled compulsively, lining up the pens along her desk. Why not?

The air was still silvery but there were weaknesses in the force of it now, gaps that she might fall through, and her jaw was beginning to ache. When she drove home there were four other cars in the yard, and David was sitting by the pool with Dianne and a group of party people, activists and strategists. Rushing straight upstairs to fix her face, she thought, If David and I ever divorced it would be me against him - and all of them. When had it begun, that he belonged more to others than he did to her? There were people who would look out for him, close around him if they thought she was a problem. She remembered the old times, when it was just the two of them. Now she was married to the party. She'd thought the way to keep him was to hold herself separate, so that she and he shared something no one else did. A mistake. She'd kept her distance from the party, and now she was on the outside.

She went down to the kitchen. David saw her and called. She went out, and he offered her a gla.s.s of sparkling water and pulled up a chair while they went on talking, David topping up the wine gla.s.ses all round.

Dianne's cheeks and neck were flushed. She said to Roza, 'Are you coming to the Wellington dinner tomorrow?'

Roza said, 'No.'

Dianne did a little mime of surprise, looked directly at David and said sweetly, 'David. Shame on you.'

There was a silence.

Roza put down her gla.s.s. She could feel people watching.

David said, 'Roza's not coming because she's working. And obviously why would she want to anyway. It's just a work thing.'

Dianne widened her eyes, innocent. Roza stared. There was another silence, during which Roza considered what she was going to say. The air around her was ragged with holes; the brightness had gone. David's chief strategist, Ed Miles, suddenly put his hand on Dianne's shoulder and said, 'Time to go.' He looked at David, who nodded. Dianne got up, and David didn't look at her, only nodded again at Ed. Roza watched Ed ushering Dianne away.

She looked around the group. They had relaxed: some were talking, some were gathering their things, ready to leave, and no one would meet her eye. She hugged her arms across her chest, chilled. David patted her shoulder and she started; she followed him and they saw everyone to the door.

In the sitting room, Roza turned on him, furious. 'That little b.i.t.c.h.'

David said, 'What is it? What is it now?' He put his arms around her and held her.

'That malicious little Dianne. The way she said "Shame on you".' Roza mimicked her sugary voice.

'Forget about her, she's nothing. Think of what we're going to do. You and me, the big picture.' He was holding her too tight. 'We're so close now. I'm going to pull it off, Roza. And you're with me. Only you.'

'Am I?' She tried to free herself. 'Get off me. Go and play with your f.u.c.king Dianne.'

'Don't be stupid.'

The air broke apart. Roza fell through a black hole and reeled, spinning out of control. She said, 'You've changed, you've become power-crazed. You're not the same person any more. It's all about the party. You don't care about me. I'm leaving. I hate your politics. I can't stand all these sly, calculating people in my house.'

He went still. 'Roza.'

He grabbed her by the wrist. She tried to elbow past him but he pulled her down onto the sofa, holding her face against his and rocking back and forth. She felt wetness on her cheek and realised he was crying. She'd never seen him cry before.

He said, 'I love you. Roza, Roza. I love you. Only you.'

She sat next to him, silent. Why had Dianne come over so catty, and why was he crying? She knew it was petty, thinking like this. Dianne was a nothing. Think of the big picture, David said, and he was right, but her mind raced; she was speeding and angry, unmoved by his crying. She saw it as evidence of guilt. He was cheating with Dianne; he'd stopped loving her. She was just here to look after his kids, supervise the domestic help. He was controlling her, making sure there were no blow-ups, nothing that would embarra.s.s him at such a sensitive time. He wanted her to get pregnant because this was another way of controlling her; it would anchor her to him, she would be monitored by doctors, held captive by the pregnancy itself, kept in check, subdued, quelled. His colleagues were in on it - don't upset Roza, let's not have any domestic problems that will distract David, that will damage the campaign. Did they talk about her, spy on her? Did they follow her?

David raised his head and rubbed his eyes. She didn't believe in the tears. But no sooner had she thought, He's controlling me, he's manipulating me, than the thought began to waver and fade, to lose its force and take on a surreal, chiming quality that turned it meaningless. There was a kind of horror to this, but it left her empty and calm. She began to think about having a baby. Perhaps being pregnant wouldn't destroy her, by reviving memories of the first baby; maybe it would allow her to focus on something new. It might be a good thing to submit to it. She needed something from the outside to save her from herself. She put her arms around David. He said something but she didn't hear it. They sat in silence as the room darkened, until they heard Jung Ha driving in the gate, bringing the kids from sports and music practice.

She said, 'You never talk about Becky. Neither do the kids. Do you talk about her when you're together?'

'Sometimes. Maybe. I suppose.'

'You never say anything about her. It's as if she ...'

'She's dead.'

'It's as if she never existed. You don't refer to her.'

'We've got our own life now. With the kids. You and me.'

'But it's so strange. You don't ...'

'Roza. Shut up.'

She stopped.