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polar bear can do we’ve got on film. Bears playing around the broken sewage pipes. Bears trying fucky-fucky in the middle of the dump.’

      ‘Okay, okay,’ Adrianna said, ‘we did good.’ She turned to Will. ‘I still want you to see my bear,’ she said.

      ‘ Your bear now, is it?’ Cornelius said.

      She ignored him. ‘Just one last shoot,’ she implored Will. ‘You won’t be disappointed.’

      ‘Jeez,’ Cornelius remarked, putting his legs up on the table. ‘Leave the man alone. He doesn’t want to see the fucking bear. Haven’t you got the message?’

      ‘Keep out of this,’ Adrianna snapped.

      ‘You’re so fucking pushy,’ Cornelius replied. ‘It’s just a bear.’

      Adrianna was up from the couch and over to Cornelius in two strides. ‘I told you: keep out of this,’ she said, and shoved Cornelius’ shoulder just hard enough to tip him over. Down he went, clearing half of the doomed Pentax from the table with his boot-heel as he went.

      ‘Come on,’ Will said, setting down his omelette in case there was an escalation in hostilities. If there was, it wouldn’t be the first time. Nine days out of every ten Cornelius and Adrianna worked side by side like brother and sister. And on the tenth they fought, like brother and sister. Today, however, Cornelius wasn’t in the mood for insults or fisticuffs. He got to his feet, brushing his hippielength hair back out of his eyes, and stumbled to the door, picking up his anorak on his way. ‘See you later,’ he said to Will. ‘I’m going to go look at the water.’

      ‘Sorry about that,’ Adrianna said when he’d gone. ‘It was my fault. I’ll make peace when he gets back.’

      ‘Whatever.’

      Adrianna went to the stove and poured herself a cup of coffee. ‘So what did Guthrie have to say?’

      ‘Not a lot.’

      ‘Why did you even go see him?’

      Will shrugged. ‘Just…some stuff from my childhood…’ he said.

      ‘Big secret?’

      Will offered her a slow smile. ‘Huge.’

      ‘So you’re not going to tell me?’

      ‘It’s nothing to do with us being here. Well, it is and it isn’t. I knew Guthrie lived on the Bay, so I kind of killed two birds…’ the words grew soft ‘…with one stone.’

      ‘Are you going to photograph him?’ she said, crossing to the window. The Tegelstrom children, who lived across the street, were out playing in the snow, their laughter loud. She peered out at them.

      ‘No,’ Will said. ‘I already invaded his privacy.’

      ‘Like I’m invading yours?’

      ‘I didn’t mean that.’

      That’s right though, isn’t it?’ she said gently. ‘I never get to hear what life was like for little Willy Rabjohns.’

      ‘That’s because—’

      ‘—you don’t want to tell me.’ She was warming to her thesis now. ‘You know…this is how you used to be with Patrick.’

      ‘Unfair.’

      ‘You used to drive him crazy. He’d call me up sometimes and vent these streams of abuse—’

      ‘He is a melodramatic queen,’ Will said, fondly.

      ‘He said you were cryptic. You are. He said you were secretive. You’re that too.’

      ‘Isn’t that the same thing?’

      ‘Don’t get intellectual. It pisses me off.’

      ‘Have you spoken to him recently?’

      ‘Now you’re changing the subject.’

      ‘I am not. You were talking about Patrick and now I’m talking about Patrick.’

      ‘I was talking about you.’

      ‘I’m bored with me. Have you talked to Patrick recently?’

      Sure.’

      ‘And how is he?’

      ‘Up and down. He tried to sell the apartment but he couldn’t get the price he wanted so he’s staying put. He says it depresses him, living in the middle of the Castro. So many widowers, he says. But I think it’s better he’s there. Especially if he gets sicker. He’s got a strong support group of friends.’

      ‘Is whatsisname still around? The kid with the dyed eyelashes?’

      ‘You know his name, Will,’ Adrianna said, turning and narrowing her eyes.

      ‘Carlos,’ Will said.

      ‘Rafael.’

      ‘Close enough.’

      ‘Yes, he’s still around. And he doesn’t dye his eyelashes. He’s got beautiful eyes. In fact he’s a wonderful kid. I surely wasn’t as giving or as loving as he is at nineteen. And I’m damn sure you weren’t.’

      ‘I don’t remember nineteen,’ Will said. ‘Or twenty, come to that. I have a very vague recollection of twenty-one—’ He laughed. ‘But you get to a place when you’re so high you’re not high any more.’

      ‘And that was twenty-one?’

      ‘It was a very fine year for acid tabs.’

      ‘Do you regret it?’

      ‘Je ne regrette rien.’ Will slurred, sloe-eyed. ‘No, that’s a lie. I wasted a lot of time in bars being picked up by men I didn’t like. And who probably wouldn’t have liked me if they’d taken the time to ask.’

      ‘What wasn’t to like?’

      ‘I was too needy. I wanted to be loved. No, I deserved to be loved. That’s what I thought, I deserved it. And I wasn’t. So I drank. It hurt less when I drank.’ He mused for a moment, staring into middle distance. ‘You’re right about Rafael. He’s better for Patrick than I ever was.’

      ‘Pat likes having a partner who’s there all the time,’ Adrianna said. ‘But he still calls you the love of his life.’

      Will squirmed. ‘I hate that.’

      ‘Well you’re stuck with it,’ Adrianna replied. ‘Be grateful. Most people never have that in their lives.’

      ‘Speaking of love and adoration, how’s Glenn?’

      ‘Glenn doesn’t count. He’s in for the kids. I’ve got wide hips and big tits and he thinks I’ll be fertile.’

      ‘So when do you start?’

      ‘I’m not going to do it. The planet’s fucked enough without me turning out more hungry mouths.’

      ‘You really feel that?’

      ‘No, but I think it,’ Adrianna said. ‘I feel very broody, especially when I’m with him. So I keep away when there’s a chance, you know, I might give in.’

      ‘He must love that.’

      ‘It drives him crazy. He’ll leave me eventually. He’ll find some earth-mother who just wants to make babies.’

      ‘Couldn’t you adopt? Make you both happy?’

      ‘We talked about it, but Glenn’s determined to continue the family line. He says it’s his animal instincts.’

      ‘Ah, the natural man.’

      This from a guy who plays in a string quartet for a living.’

      ‘So

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