MERCIFULLY, LUNCH IS OVER and we're edging on toward dinner time. I have text confirmation that Buddy is still alive, does, in fact, remember that he has a daughter, and is on his way to pick her up from my place now.

Must've been one hell of a night if you're only getting over your hangover now!>

Three dots appear, then disappear. I decide not to mock him. Hangovers are awful at our age. At least he's on his way.

"Okay, Angel," I say to the child as I fish my keys out of the diaper bag. "Daddy Buddy is coming to get you and bring you back home! Isn't that exciting? We'll have to pack up your things and make sure we got all the syrup out of your ears, okay? No mention of curtain fires, though. Don't want Daddy Buddy thinking Auntie Alice is a bad babysitter."

"Bad babysitter," she repeats.

"Not a bad babysitter!" I remind her.

"No fire," she confirms with a nod. I believe we have an understanding, but I guess we'll see.

After struggling to roll the monster stroller into our tight front hall and releasing Angel from its clutches, I set about trying to collapse the thing. I try to remember how Vic managed to get it uncollapsed since, presumably, recollapsing it would be a simple matter of repeating those steps in reverse order.

I press the various pedals to no effect. I kneel beside the thing to get a better look, flipping levers and catches, succeeding only in releasing the seatback, which flops backward with painful force into my face.

"Ow!" I gasp in surprise, then reflexively try to swear it into submission. "Collapse, you bastard!"

"Mum!" Maeve comes thumping down the stairs. "Tim is hogging the goddam bathroom again."

"Maeve, don't swear in front of the baby."

She rolls her eyes in my general direction.

"Can you tell him to get out? I need to go."

I can feel my frustration mounting. "Use the basement washroom!"

"I can't! Jeffry's taking a shower in that one."

"Where's your dad? I need him to figure this thing out." I kick the stroller spitefully.

She shrugs. "I dunno. Still at work?"

I pull myself to standing and, hand on hips, regard my nemesis with a squinty eye. "Alright, you bastard. You've won this round...." I say to it, giving it another poke with my foot. "But reinforcements are coming. I wouldn't get too comfortable if I were you, you sorry, bloated excuse for a perambulator."

"Mum. I thought we weren't supposed to swear in front of the baby."

"Maeve, go back to school," I say ferociously, having had it up to the veritable here with everything.

She gives me a steely glare before stomping back up the stairs.

I take a long slow breath. I am floating on an ocean of calm. I am floating on an...

Ding Dong!

Oh, thank god. I leap over the stroller, which is smugly taking up most of the hallway, and edge open the door to find a downcast-looking Buddy on the porch.

"I'm so sorry, Alice," he groans. "I know I really took advantage. Has Angel been a nightmare? She can be a handful. I should have come first thing this morning. I shouldn't have gone out last night at all. I feel awful about it. I feel awful in general."

"Actually," I lie, knowing that he needs me to. "She's been pretty good most of the visit. After the syrup incident anyway." I pause but then quickly say, "But never mind. Listen, this stroller. How do you get it down? I can't...."

Buddy reaches around me, lifts the stroller and chucks it out (uncollapsed) onto the porch.

"Don't bother. It's pointless. Put it down. Put it back up. Put it down again. What good does it do?"

Jesus. Has he been reading Kierkegaard too, I wonder?

"You'd better come through," I say, sensing that my friend needs to talk. And possibly, a drink.

WE'RE SETTLED ON THE couch, each with a large glass of red in our hand. Angel has the vibe of someone who's sick of trying to be on her best behaviour and, now that her Dad's back, is really going to let shit fly. She gave him a shove when he tried to hug her and shouted "Udder Daddy" which I presumed to mean she wanted James and not Buddy and that presumption was obviously shared by Buddy because his eyes sprung with hopeless tears.

Whoa, I thought. That's gotta sting.

I called for Maeve, who reluctantly took the angry toddler to her room to build a bedsheet fort, leaving Buddy and I alone for a chat.

"So, really," I assure him, "She was no bother. You might find her a little sticky behind the ears, but basically--"

"Alice," he moans into his wine, "I've done something really, really bad."

"No, honestly. It's okay to need a break from them at this age. Really. They're monsters. You had a little rest, recharge... you'll be stronger for it. More resilient and--"

He cuts me off again. "Alice, stop talking. I mean last night. That old friend. Dinner. I shouldn't have gone."

Ohhh. A picture begins to form.

"Tell me. Who?"

He sobs, crushing his large hand against his peaky-looking face, clearly still very hungover.

"Just some nobody. We dated once. Twice maybe. Before I met James. It was a chemistry thing. Never love."

"Okay, I'm with you." I sip my wine nervously, knowing where this is going.

"So, when we ran into each other it was like, you know, this chemical reaction. He always made me feel so... good about myself. And I wanted to feel that way again."

I nod. I can understand this exactly.

"Did you...?" I don't say the word, but he guiltily nods.

"We drank too much. We talked about old times. We went out to the old club after. Drank more. Things got..."

"Sloppy?"

He nods again. "Yes, sloppy. I... he..."

I feel like I have to save my poor friend from the admission he's trying to make so I jump in to help by saying, "You had sex," at almost the same time as he says, "We kissed."

"But then you had sex?"

He looks at me, aghast, over his wineglass. "God, no! But this is just as bad, Alice. Don't you get it? I've betrayed my vows. I've ruined my marriage!"

I hold my hand up. Ruined marriage? I mean, that seems a bit extreme over one little kiss. "But Buddy, it was just a sloppy dance-floor kiss. It doesn't count. It's not like you... you know. You realized it was wrong, you stopped, you left. Right?"

He drains his wineglass and sets it hard on the coffee table. "I have to tell him."

"Tell who, what?"

"James. If I want to restore trust and keep our marriage alive, I'll have to come clean."

"Er... " I say, not wanting to disagree but vehemently disagreeing with his inclination on this. "No, you do not have to tell James about this. It was a silly, drunk, one-off that amounts to, what, your lips bumped into this other guy's lips. Pff," I say with a shrug. "Whatever! Remember when our thirsty real estate agent cornered you in the men's washroom on opening night of the cafe? If I recall, she had her lips squashed against yours pretty aggressively before you managed to slip her grip. You didn't tell James about that, did you?"

Buddy almost laughed. "No, there was no point. Loretta was just... a crazy cougar. Didn't mean anything."

"See? I'm telling you Buddy, do not risk everything just to clear your conscience."

"What am I supposed to do then?"

"Repress it! Compartmentalize the crap out it, shove it down into a box, turn the lights out and forget it's there."

"How very wasp-ish of you, Alice."

I shrug and pour us both a little bit more wine.

"That doesn't mean I'm wrong."

We sit in silence, except for the sounds of a bossy toddler making a bed fort with a sulky teenager filtering distantly down the stairs. I can see that he's conflicted. Arguing with the voice inside his head.

"Nope," he says at last. "I need to tell him. And I need to tell him in person. That's the only way. Can you keep Angel another day or two?"

Day or two???

"I'll give you the keys to my place. You can get more clothes for her. Whatever you need. I need to go to Montreal."

"Oh, Buddy... I really don't think--"

"Alice, I owe you one. More than one. I owe you big time."

And with barely a nod from me, he's twisted a key off his keychain and left to go track down the next Porter flight to Montreal.