You’ll have to stay on the medications for the rest of your life. You realise that, don’t you?’

‘Doesn’t worry me,’ I said. ‘Just to have a rest of my life’s the bonus.’

‘I’ll refer you to a man in Sydney for you to stay in touch with.’

Dr Epstein put his hand on my chest and ordered me to cough.

‘That sternum’s solid,’ he said. ‘You can do pretty much anything you did before. You worked out, didn’t you?’

‘Yes. Nothing too solid.’

‘Give it another couple of weeks and get back to it. You’re going to feel ten years younger.’

So apparently I could get back to normal life. But what was that, with my career as a private enquiry agent effectively brought to a full stop? I put such thoughts on hold as I went about the rehabilitation full steam. Ocean Beach pier, the structure everyone is so proud of, is about a mile and a half long, taking in the main length and the two cross pieces-a perfect walking track with interesting things to look at along the way: the Vietnamese men and women, fishing for food, with their basic equipment; the others, for sport, with their high-tech rods and reels; the professionals in their high-powered boats. At the right times of day the bodysurfers were out and the windsurfers and the board riders.

It was the longest I’d ever stayed in one place in the US and I found it growing on me. Almost everything was commercialised, privatised, corporatised, except the people. They came in all shapes and sizes and colours and varied from aggressive semi-sociopaths to the utterly normal men and women you can find anywhere. Television was appalling, but books were cheap.

After a few days of walking the pier I had people to nod to-the guy from the bait shop, the professional photographer, other walkers. Then I met, or re-met, Margaret McKinley.

2

I was sitting on a bench near the end of the pier reading.