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are pretty thin) I see them in the morning, and they don’t look like they’ve been honoured.
    He’s my mate, but he’s not a good guy. He’s not for you.
    You’re not that girl. I think you already know you’re something special. Don’t let someone make you feel ordinary. Not even me.
    I’m sorry about the Shirley Temples. I was just teasing. I didn’t realise just how mad it was making you. My chest is still all sticky with it. Between that and the germs from this disgusting gym, I’m toxic.
    I’m going for a surf.
    Wanna come with?
     
     
    Tuesday 25 th February 2.06pm
    —North Shore, Oahu—
    So I’ve been scratching out some of my own equations here in the sand, and I think I’ve probably been going about it all wrong.
    All this, ‘He’s a wildman and none can tame him,’ is probably just driving you into Lachie’s evil clutches, because you think you will be the one for him, and that will make you the most special of all.
    Maybe it’s the sobriety talking, but you know who your guy is? You remember Simon? Something-something-the-third’s little brother Simon? You’re going, ‘Him???’
    I had a yarn with him last night. He’s a nerdy guy, but he’s going to inherit a multinational, because, as is obvious to everyone who falls into something-something-the-third’s unfortunate sphere, big brother is one incompetent drongo. ( That’s how it’s used in context. You doubted!)
    Simon looks fourteen, but he’s eighteen. He’s funny. He would adore you. You’re going to have to train him, but he will be a gentle and attentive lover. He would be so grateful. You’d be set up for life. He’s going to get all distinguished and entrepreneurial. He’s a winner. Simon is your guy.
     
     
    Tuesday 25 th February 2.58pm
    —Shangri La Café at Honolulu Museum of Art—
    I thought a stroll through the art museum might calm my irritations and clear my head, but I was wrong. Who needs tranquil seascapes and priceless indigenous artifacts when there’s messages to be written about Simon?
    Soooo. Simon Rothschild-Pinaud, second in line to the women’s fragrance
    throne. Yes, I’ve seen him around.
    He’s the one with the thick glasses who cringes when something-something-the-third throws tantrums at the clubhouse pool because Waikiki Yacht carries San Pellegrino exclusively, not Perrier. He’s the one who says nothing when something-something-the-third speaks slowwwwly and deliiiiberately to the apparently all-deaf Filipino-American staff. And when they’ve come back sweating buckets after having hustled down to the Hyatt to fetch big brother’s water, he doesn’t even have the balls to tip them behind something-something-the-cheapskate’s back. So, no, you’ve got it all wrong. Big brother’s going to claim the perfume throne in the end. Incompetent drongo or no, at least something-something-the-third’s not a coward.
    But other than that, Simon’s great! Harmless as anything.
    He’ll do well enough in life. They’ll find a job for him somewhere in the company and he’ll continue to live fashionably. Poor guy. He thought he was so cool, hanging with the surfer set. When he yelled out: Gnarly! and you slapped his back, I wanted to pinch his cheek. You made him feel right at home, Kody.
    However, I did find it interesting that you had no problem exchanging a few beers with our little underage friend. Amelia Beauchamp takes one sip from Lachie’s bottle and you’re across the club like a bullet to snatch it up. Simon gets a pass, though. So very feminist of you.
    But anyhowwww, let me spread all my Simon Rothschild-Pinaud cards out here and have a good study. Fawning, cowardly, sycophantic. Distinguished, possibly entrepreneurial. Our kids will be pale in that transparent blue sort of way but brilliant. They’ll go to the best East Coast schools and be able to pronounce words like béchamel and beaujolais at age two.
    But it’s the gentle and attentive lover thing that’s really piqued