She looked around. Everything was back to normal. On the other benches they were sneaking swigs while bickering with each other. The spring flowers in the planters between the benches were resplendent in the hot sunshine. The birds sang and the air was finally warm. The perfect conditions for the life she was now leading.

People walked by with deliberate steps and airs of importance. Just a few years ago she had been one of them, someone who went to work every morning and came home with a bag of groceries in the evening. Someone who went to the gym and yoga, who took care of her health, her appearance, and other things like makeup and accessories. The bathroom tiles.

The anxiety that had temporarily left her in conjunction with the blow to her face returned. It couldn’t be cured, but there were two ways to deal with it in the short-term: tablets and alcohol. Both options were devastating in the long run. Her stomach was turning, her head spinning. She couldn’t take more right now; she would have to withstand the pain some other way.

“How are you, babe?” said Lubbi, putting a hand on her knee. “You’re ghastly pale.”

“I’m fine,” Jeanette lied.

“Perhaps we should have called an ambulance? You might have a concussion.”

“It’s not that, I promise. I’m just having a really shit day. In here,” she added, gesturing at her head.

And then the tears came. She felt stupid crying in front of all these people who really didn’t have it good either. But the tears welling up inside her couldn’t be stopped. It wasn’t a dramatic show, no sobbing, just a small and silent trickle of tears running down her cheeks.

But Lubbi saw. He put his arm around Jeanette again and pulled her close.

“What’s weighing heavy on your heart?” he asked pompously in an attempt to play down the situation.

“I miss home,” said Jeanette. “Miss everything I used to have before I became like this.”

“Like this?” said Lubbi. “You’re a good-looking girl, Jen. There’s nothing that needs changing about you.”

“I miss my daughter and my husband and our home and all our stuff. Not so much my job and . . .”

“Daughter?” Nanna interrupted. “You have a daughter?”

“You’ve never mentioned it before,” Lubbi agreed.

“Had,” said Jeanette in despair. “She died.”

“That’s shit,” said Nanna, putting her hand on Jeanette’s.

“I’m sorry,” said Lubbi.

He was quiet for a while before returning to the subject.

“I don’t want to dig around and open old wounds and all that, but if you want to talk then you’re welcome to. You might feel better?”

Jeanette wanted to talk, but hadn’t touched on the subject for a long time. She didn’t quite know where to start.

“She was called Charlotte,” she said simply.

“Beautiful,” said Nanna. “Beautiful name.”

“How old . . . was she?” Lubbi asked.

“She was four when it was diagnosed,” said Jeanette, wiping her nose with her sleeve. “Acute myelogenous leukaemia.”