‘What’re you playing at?’ I say. He turns to me, still clutching the bird. I notice her sleeve is torn, and a bruise might be forming under one eye.

‘Fuck off,’ he says, ‘it’s got nothing to do with you.’

He might be younger, but I’m wider, and it’s not all fat. Not yet.

‘Let go of her,’ I say.

‘What you gonna do?’ he says.

I punch him in the face. He lets go of her and crumples. I think I broke his nose. He’s bleeding all over the place and whimpering. She leans herself against a wall, still crying.

‘Want me to call the police?’ I ask.

She shakes her head.

‘Want me to call an ambulance?’

She shakes her head.

‘Want me to take you home?’

She nods, slowly. I offer her my arm and she leans against it. She doesn’t seem too steady on her feet, so I put my arm around her as we walk out of the ally.

Now the pub is just between the grocery store and my home. And of course, just as we come out onto the main street, I see my wife hurrying along, a bag of groceries in each hand. And I’m thinking… shit. I just know she’s going to misunderstand everything. But what do I do? Let go of the girl and let her fall to the ground? That would make just as bad as the other bloke. But by now it’s too late. She’s seen me. And she’s making a bee-line for me. But when she’s about five meters from me, she freezes. She stares at the girl. She probably noticed the bruises. Then she avoids us and continues her way home in a half trot. Seems we’ll take it when I get home.

As the bird guides me the rest of the way to her nest, my mind is racing. How will I make my wife believe me? I say goodbye to the bird at the door.

‘Thanks,’ she whispers before going in.

‘You’re welcome,’ I say.

Then I go home. Slowly. I pause in front of my door. I know that she’s in there, fuming. Perhaps if I didn’t come home until tomorrow, she would forget about it? No, I know that would only make her madder. So I go inside.

As I take off my boots, I can hear her washing up in the kitchen. I take a deep breath and walk into the kitchen. She is washing up the frying pan. The smell of bacon fat still lingers in the air. I clear my throat. She spins around.

‘There you are!’ her cheeks are flushed. ‘What the hell do you think you were doing with that girl?’ her voice is shrill.

‘It’s all a misunderstanding,’ I begin.

‘Did you rape her?’

Her comment slaps me in the face and I take a step back.

‘What?’

‘Don’t you think I saw her?’

‘I didn’t do anything to her,’ I say, ‘it was the young bloke.’

‘What bloke?’

‘The bloke she was with,’ I say, ‘he was being rough to her, so I hit him and helped the girl out of the ally.’

‘And why didn’t you call an ambulance?’

‘The girl said she didn’t want me to.’

‘So now you’re talking to the dead!’ she screams, ‘how stupid do you think I am?’

I blink a couple of times.

‘You’re talking nonsense,’ I say, ‘I’m going to bed.’ I turn my back to her and move towards the door.

‘Murderer!’ she comes up behind me and smashes the frying pan right into the back of my head.

And that’s where I black out.

And when I come to, I can’t find my wife.