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confrontation, despite inner rumblings of rebellion. With his father he would feign obe­dience, until Gus, fed up with his diversion tactics, would fling whatever was on his plate – potatoes, beets, Brussels sprouts – at him. How can my son be such an idiot?
    â€˜Would you apologize?’ Robertson repeats.
    â€˜Probably. To avoid further trouble.’
    â€˜Then they’ll just hit me again and I won’t be able to hit back.’
    Tanis summons Robertson for dinner. ‘Right now, please,’ she adds. Before the vaporizing alien incident, she would allow him to dawdle. Does she no longer consider Milo a good influence?
    He lies with Zosia’s scarf over his face, picturing her smoky, weary eyes. She expects the worst, and when it happens only shrugs, trudging onward. She views Canadians as overindulged children to be tolerated but not taken seriously. She called Milo a coaster . ‘You coast,’ she said in her Latvian accent, heavy on the c’s and slow on the s’s. ‘One morning you’ll wake up and you’ll be old and you’ll have nothing.’ Zosia studied electrical engineering in Russia, worked hard among misogynists to earn her degrees. In Canada the only work available to her, despite retraining, was waitressing, which is how she met Milo. Zosia was attracted to him because he wasn’t an alcoholic. She said all Russian men are alcoholics. With such low expectations, Milo could not disappoint, or anyway that’s what he thought, until she dumped him. He wishes he’d bought her a honey-I-love-you ring.
    Wallace told Milo that Zosia was after Canadian citizenship. ‘She wants your fucking wedding vows, butthead.’
    This, of course, had not occurred to Milo. He’d thought she was after his body and his mind, not necessarily in that order. She certainly wasn’t after his income. Should he have it out with her? Gus was a big believer in ‘having it out’ with people. Maybe Milo should show up at the Copper Pipe where Zosia slings designer pizzas and simply ask, ‘What did I do?’ He could even take a honey-I-love-you ring along as backup.
    He lifts her scarf a few inches off his face then lets it drift back down as he hears Wallace returning from the airport. Milo agreed to board Wallace’s mother for a sizeable cash sum. Normally Wallace’s baritone carries upstairs easily but Milo hears only a chirpy British voice. He has never met Wallace’s mother, even though they lived blocks away growing up, because she was always working two jobs. Someone knocks on his door.
    â€˜Who is it?’
    â€˜Can I talk to you for a sec?’
    Behind the door stands a tremulous Wallace. ‘What’s the problem?’
    â€˜I fucking forgot to make up her bed. Do you have any, like, nice sheets and towels?’
    â€˜Whatever’s in the closet.’
    â€˜They’re fucking sad, man, they’re, like, totally used.’
    Milo hears clomping on the stairs. ‘Did I hear you use that word again, Wally?’
    â€˜Sorry, Mum, I was just … ’
    She appears, tiny, sparkly, with electric currents for eyes. ‘Are you Milo?’
    â€˜Yes. You must be Mrs. … ?’
    â€˜Call me Vera. What’s all this fuss about then, Wally?’
    â€˜It’s just,’ Wallace murmurs, ‘we don’t have nice towels and stuff.’
    â€˜What’s that got to do with the price of cheese?’
    Wallace stares at his feet. ‘It’s just, I wanted you to have something pretty.’
    â€˜What codswallop. Let’s have a cuppa.’ She turns and climbs down the stairs with surprising speed. ‘Will you join us, Milo?’
    Wallace looks imploringly at Milo and mouths, ‘Please!’
    â€˜Not tonight, thank you, Vera,’ Milo says. ‘There are some digestives in a tin beside the tea things.’
    â€˜Oh, how lovely,’ Vera exudes. ‘Just what