It was her fault they were late. Over the last few days her body had become a leaden weight that needed to be dragged around from place to place. It was a tremendous effort to do anything at all.

Dan had sat silently on the end of their bed while she paused to rest and sigh after doing up each button on her shirt, his feet tapping a violent rhythm on the carpet. He liked parties.

Cat watched the lights of the city reflecting red and blue on the harbor’s murky depths. She liked parties, too. In fact, December was normally her favorite time of year. She loved the way Sydney become all giggly and light-headed. She loved the way nothing mattered quite so much and work deadlines lost their power. Of course we can’t even think about that until after Christmas, people said happily. But this December didn’t feel special at all. There was no special December smell in the air. It could just as easily have been March, or July, or any boring old month.

The car careened across two lanes as they took off from the tollgates and Cat fell against Dan’s shoulder. They both laughed polite-stranger laughs and Dan looked at his watch. “We’re making O.K. time, we won’t be that late.”

“That’s good.”

They sat in silence while the cab headed toward the Rocks. Cat spoke to the window. “Do of any of your friends know, you know, about…”

“No.”

He took her hand and put it in his lap.

“Of course not. Nobody knows.”

Cat looked out at George Street. Traffic had slowed to a jolting stop-and-start crawl. Horns tooted. Men and women in business suits spilled out of the pubs and their laughing faces seemed hard and strident. People in the distance kept seeing Cat and Dan’s cab, throwing one arm in the air and then dropping it with aggressive disgust when they saw it was taken. Sydney wasn’t giggly and light-headed at Christmastime; Sydney was just drunk and sordid.

“I wish you’d got the Paris job,” she said.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t.”

Ever since Dan had started working for the Australian branch of a French company, they had dreamed of a transfer to Paris. The Christmas before, he had made it onto the short list for a management position and the dream got so close they could touch it. They even enrolled themselves in a Beginner’s French course at the local evening college. In France, they would be themselves, but better. They’d wear French clothes and have French sex, while still, of course, maintaining their fundamental Aussie superiority. They’d be more worldly, more stylish, and in years to come, they’d say, “Oh yes, we both speak fluent French! Naturellement! We had a year in Paris, you see.”

But he’d missed out, and it had taken weeks to recover from the sour disappointment. And now here they were trapped in their stale, same-old Sydney lives. The only difference was a girl with shiny black hair and fresh young skin.

Cat turned away from the window to look at Dan. “Did you kiss her good-bye?”

He let go of her hand. “Oh, Cat, please no more, not tonight.”

“Because you called a cab, didn’t you? What did you do while you waited for it? Did she stay in bed or did she get up and wait with you?”

“I don’t understand why you can’t leave it alone,” said Dan. He was looking at her as if he didn’t know her, as if he didn’t even particularly like her. “You’re actually getting pretty f**king boring, Cat.”

“What?”

The rage was a glorious relief after the apathy. It went straight to her head, like tequila.

“I can’t believe you said that.”

She had a vision of his head snapping back as her fist slammed into his chin.

In a sudden rush of movement she leaned forward, so that her seat belt pulled tight against her and tapped the taxi driver on the shoulder.

“Can you believe he said that?”

“I was not listening, sorry.” The driver cocked his head politely toward her.

“Oh, Jesus, Cat.” Dan bunched his body up into the corner of the cab, as if he were trying to disappear.

“We’ve been married for four years,” she told the taxi driver, becoming more exhilarated with fury with every word. “Everything’s going well; we’re even trying to have a baby. And then, what does he do? He goes out and has sex with some strange woman he picks up in a bar. He tells me this while we’re eating spaghetti. So, fine. That’s fine. I’m trying to deal with it. He’s sorry. He’s very f**king sorry. But you know what he just said to me?”

The cabdriver had pulled up at a red light. The streetlights illuminated his face as he twisted around from the steering wheel to contemplate Cat. He had a black beard and smiling white teeth.

“No, I do not know,” he said. “You tell me.”

Dan groaned quietly.

“He said I was boring because I keep asking questions about it.”

“Ah, I see,” said the driver. He glanced over at Dan and back at Cat. “This is very painful for you.”

“Yes,” said Cat gratefully.

“The lights have changed, mate,” said Dan.

The driver turned back around and accelerated. “If my wife unfaithful to me, I kill her,” he said enthusiastically.

“Really?” said Cat.

“With my bare hands, I hold them to her neck and I squeeze.”

“I see.”

“But for men, it is different,” he said. “Our biology, it is different!”

“Oh, for God’s sake!” Cat put her hand on the door handle. “Stop the car. I can’t stand either of you.”