Stanley's hand hovered over the sugar container for a few more seconds. He didn't really know the protocol in this situation. On the one hand, Kevin was a diabetic incapable of managing his own sugar levels. On the other hand, he had just been dealt a rather nasty shock, so surely he needed the extra pick-me-up?

Turning around to try and make panicked eye contact with Fatima - she would know what to do - Stanley sputtered to a halt. The greyish tinge to Kevin’s complexion, and the faint tremor in his spotted hands as they fished out a crumpled old handkerchief from his breast pocket, provided all the answer that Stanley needed. He confidently spooned in two heaped teaspoons of the gritty crystals as Kevin honked into his hanky. He clearly needed it.

“… if we don’t know what it says”. Fatima’s voice carried over the sound of Kevin’s snuffling and broke through Stanley’s tea-making musings. He ferried the steaming cups to the small green Formica table sitting in the middle of his kitchenette. Stanley eased himself into his seat and back into the conversation.

“What’aya saying, Fati?”

Fatima’s clear, crisp tone brooked no nonsense in her reply. “I’m saying that Kevin can’t expect us to help him if he won’t explain what is in this mysterious bloody envelope that has caused him so much panic. He needs to let us look at what’s inside.” Her deep brown eyes bored into Kevin, eyebrows raised expectedly. Stanley worried for his mate; Fatima’s gaze was notorious.

Fortunately - for Kevin at least, not Fatima - his face was pressed thoroughly into the safety of his hands, so he didn’t notice. His fingers whitened with pressure as they dug into his furrowed eye socket. His muffled voice escaped in a pathetic wail, “I can’t, it’s too terrible…” He snuffled loudly. “… too horrible to mention.”

Fatima clucked her tongue in the longstanding tradition of every exasperated aunty. “Kevin, are we not your best friends. We cannot help you with this problem if you don’t tell us anything.”

When she was met with no response, not including the silent rebuke from Stanley’s eyes, she tried in a more soothing tone.

“Kevin, it really cannot be that bad, can it? What kind of mischief could you possible have gotten up to that we don’t know about already? We’ve known you now for…” - she tried to do the maths and failed - “… for years.”

“We’ve known each other for… seven years, actually. Seven years, this December.” Stanley smiled to himself, at his mathematical ability and at the memory. A stuff-around with the seating chart had meant that he, Kevin and Fatima, previously strangers, had been seated at an almost empty table at the annual Bethlehem Village Christmas party. Awkward at the time, Stanley could now see it as a fortunate meet-cute; the unlikely trio had been almost inseparable since. Although, how would the friendship fare if Fatima kept pushing Kevin’s boundaries?

“Yes, thank you Stanley,” Fatima confirmed, through a strained smile. “We’ve known you for seven years, Kevin. You are our friend. What could be so bad that you can’t share with your friends?”

“I can’t tell you. You-you’ll hate me.” Kevin’s head slipped lower as he slumped it into the crook of his arm. “It’s too horrible,” he squeaked.

Fatima threw her hands up and rolled her eyes heavenward. As she took a deep breath, she pointedly jutted her head into Kevin’s direction. When Stanley didn’t take her hint, jutted it again, more fiercely. Clearly, she was trying to bring Stanley in as a reinforcement to her attack.

He cleared his throat. Loudly.

“Well..” His voice caught.

Looking down at the table, avoiding Fatima’s piercing gaze with the pretence of tidying up imaginary crumbs, Stanley rose softly to Kevin’s defence. “Well, if he says that he can’t tell us, then I don’t see that there is much we can do, Fati.”

Fatima stared at Stanley, he determinedly avoided making eye contact.

“How do you propose we help him then?” Fatima choked the words out.

Stanley cleared his throat again, and made a few blustering noises. He tried to say something stoic and reasonable about cups of tea, a shoulder to cry on. Those things. Not much come out of his mouth, other than a few splutters and some incomprehensible chuffs.

Fatima was so rigid with frustration, she could only manage to purse her lips. Stanley didn’t think that this boded well for him. He was expecting a verbal tongue-lashing, so the next words out of her mouth caught him off guard.

“What did he say to you?”

Stanley blinked. “Wha’?” He couldn’t understand the premise of her question. “Who? When?”

Fatima’s response came loudly. “Kevin. What did Kevin say to you? When he got here?”

“Oh.” Stanley shook his head and stared dumbly down at the battered Formica. “I, uh, well, nothing.” He repeated the last word with more conviction. “Nothing, really. He looked like hell, like he does now. All pale and shaky. He said that he’d received a nasty bit of mail and could he come in for a spell. I let him in, sat him down right there” - Stanley gestured to the seat that Kevin was currently slumped in - “and then I bloody well called you straight away.”

Fatima always knew what to do. Especially in a crisis. Did it really matter that he hadn’t told her everything that Kevin said? She could still help with the information that she had access to, right?

Kevin groaned from beneath his arms. “It’s fine. It’s fine. I think I just need to lay low for a few days.” He paused for a few seconds as though thinking to himself. “Maybe I should get away up to the coast or something?”

Before Fatima’s frustration could explode out of her, the three friends were interrupted by a knock at the door.

(To be continued).