‘Zoe good?’ Gus says.
He’s rolling a cigarette as I apply foils to my client’s head.
‘She’s great,’ I tell him.
‘Gonna miss her, huh?’
I turn to face Gus. Wince.
He puts his tobacco down. ‘No?’
‘Sorry.’
‘When?’
I hold up four fingers.
Gus picks up his cigarette and continues rolling. ‘Better send postcards, man. Lots of postcardoes.’