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his waist. ‘Go on then, up you go.’ The dog bounds ahead then turns and stops on the landing and looks back at Richard.
    â€˜Patience,’ says Richard, smiling. He grasps the rail and as he sets his foot on the first step the dog barks. ‘No, Friday, no,’ hisses Richard. The dog falls silent but looks eagerly down towards him, ears cocked, tail going strongly as if this were the start of some ritual game.
    Richard lays a foot on the next step. The dog barks. Richard stops. The dog stops barking.
    â€˜Here, Friday,’ says Richard, ‘come,’ and to his surprise the dog trots back down the stairs and sits in front of him on the bottom step.
    â€˜Stay,’ says Richard and again he unhitches the belt and loops it through the collar. He starts back up the stairs, hauling on the rail with his right hand and the dog keeps pace with him step by step, the pattern of all patience, and pauses beside him on the little landing between floors as Richard leans against the wall and regains breath.
    Past the mezzanine to the floor where Richard slept, but he goes down the opposite corridor now in search of the sun, releasing Friday to bound ahead of him. He opens a door at random and the room is so bright that he has to close then shade his eyes. The fridge retains a hint of coldness and he chooses a Heineken over the red wine that he’d thought of having, pouring it into a tooth glass from the bathroom floor.
    â€˜Cheers, Friday,’ and he raises his glass to the sitting dog whose tail sweeps back and forth across the carpet like a windscreen wiper.
    With difficulty Richard drags the one easy chair over to the window and collapses into it, breathing heavily. The sun is warm on his legs and feet. The window looks out over roofs to the north and northwest. Through a gap between bank buildings he can see the broken steeple of the cathedral and the staved-in roof of a building beyond. There is smoke in the air though he cannot see where from. The distant Kaikouras retain a little cap of snow, glistening like dew.
    Sensing calm, the dog curls in the sunlight, a paw tight against Richard’s slippered foot. Richard feels privileged by the contact.
    Another aftershock, and the dog is instantly awake and on its feet and looking round for the source of the attack.
    â€˜It’s all right, boy,’ says Richard, ‘here, come here,’ and he stretches out an arm as the building shakes and wheezes, and he smiles at the beast and makes coaxing, clucking noises, and as the tremor rumbles to its end the dog comes to him and accepts the offered stroking on the neck and chin, and rubbing of the silky ear between the thumb and forefinger. ‘You’ll be okay with me,’ says Richard, and as he speaks he means it. And he’s pleased to see the dog’s tail rise a little and swish from side to side. ‘ Contra mundum , Friday, contra mundum .’
    Richard finishes his beer. With a gasp of effort he heaves himself out of the chair, fetches a small array of bottles from the mini-bar and stands them by the chair. The sun is warm through the glass. He can see only roofs and the broken spire and the distant mountains. He twists open the cabernet sauvignon, glugs at its deep, thick redness and stares out towards the pale sky of high summer. He can feel the welcome oblivion of sleep stealing towards him. And as it comes an image rises unbidden in his mind, an old familiar image, a tent in a stand of trees near the Grey River, and afternoon sunlight dappling naked flesh. Richard pushes the image away, forces it down.
    He is woken by the dog’s paw scraping his thigh. Drowsy, fogged, he pushes the paw away without opening his eyes. The dog whines.
    â€˜Shhh, dog, shhh.’
    Quiet, and Richard is falling back into the luxury of sleep when again the paw scrapes his thigh with soft urgency and the whining restarts.
    â€˜What is it?’ and he hauls himself up into the cruelty