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a hand to Rennie’s back, pressed her ahead of him, watching the grille squared on both of them, the bumper inching towards their calves. Then the heat of the engine was on his thighs and something tense and agitated hardened inside him. He slid his hand around Rennie’s waist and drew her to the side wall with him. The car didn’t come any closer. Just idled in the driveway, blinding them in its headlights. No yelling, no revving. No need. The threat was clear.
    Christ, would the kid run them down? Outside a bottle shop? He’d done nothing rational so far, no reason to think logic was part of the decision-making now.
    Max glanced at Rennie. Her body was rigid, braced, as though sudden movement might scare the beast into action. Then he saw her face. In the five years he’d known her, she’d only hinted at the ugly fragments of her past. He’d never asked more than she wanted to tell, just understood she was trying to put it behind her. Now he wondered if it was the kid or the memories that had rooted her to the spot. Either way, he wanted to do something to erase the fear in her eyes. It shouldn’t be there, not while he was with her.
    â€˜Keep walking, Renée,’ he told her quietly.
    As she turned away, he started towards the driver’s side, adrenaline flooding his muscles. It was a long time since he’d thrown a punch. But that’s what the kid was after so he was going to call him on it. He was young but Max had age and bulk and experience.
    An arm appeared out of the driver’s window, flipping the bird over and over. There was yelling, too. Max couldn’t hear the words but it didn’t matter. He had the gist of it.
    It was Rennie’s voice that pulled him up. She was standing in front of the windows, squinting in the glare, mobile phone in her hand.
    â€˜I’m calling the cops. I’ve got your number plate.’ She called out the letters and numbers like she was reading a vision test to a live audience. Not unnerved anymore. Cool, determined, in control. She didn’t wait for a response, just hustled to the shop, threw open a door, waved her arms around and shouted, ‘That kid out there, he’s threatening us with his car.’
    Heads turned, the guy behind the counter looked at her then out into the driveway.
    It was too much for the coward behind the wheel. He gave a final, pissed-off rev of his engine and reversed out, a little squelch of rubber as he headed for the street. Max stood in the lane and watched him all the way, proud of Rennie, a bit ashamed he’d gone for the smack-in-the- head option.
    She was checking the racks of red wine by the time he found her. No one had made a dash for the driveway. No heroes in here, either.
    â€˜You okay?’ he asked her.
    She dodged the arm he tried to put around her, kept her eyes on the wine. ‘What do you want to drink?’
    â€˜What? I don’t know. Rennie?’
    She ignored him.
    â€˜Renée?’
    She swung around. ‘What, Max? What the hell were you doing out there?’
    â€˜You’re mad at me ?’
    â€˜Yeah.’ She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. ‘No.’
    â€˜Nothing happened, Rennie. He’s gone.’ He put a hand on her arm, high up near the shoulder and felt a faint tremble inside her. ‘We’re buying wine. We’re going to a party.’
    â€˜Shit.’
    He wasn’t sure if it was directed at him or the kid or something else. ‘Okay?’ he said, meaning both ‘You’re okay’ and ‘Let’s forget about it, okay?’
    She crossed her arms, took a breath, turned back to the rack. ‘Red or white?’
    *
    The crowd in Skiffs had generated enough heat to remind Rennie how late they were. Pav would be desperate.
    â€˜Rennie! Max!’ If Trish noticed, she didn’t care. Her arms were wide, a flute of champagne in one hand, no apron, no work-issue black, no busy face.