‘Sorry, say again?’ called the driver.

‘Nothing. I wasn’t talking to you.’ He was going to lose a star from his rating if he spoke to her again. She tried to summon the voice of Trishna, the meditation woman. Hear the breath coming in, going out. And listen for each other’s breaths. And think how we are all connected. Trishna’s husband was a slush fund adviser and they had two properties. I’d be at one with the universe if I had an infinity pool, Sal had thought. But she was good, no denying it. Her tricks did work, at these occasional moments, the ambush of panic. And they were occasional. The panic was a very specific problem which she was on top of, 98 per cent of the time, and she’d get back on top of it here, too, as soon as the breathing started to level out.

Hear the breaths coming in, coming out.

Listen to your own heartbeat and think about the different parts of your body and how they’re—

The phone was juddering in her lap. MEGHAN. Not Steffi, not anyone useful. And yet what if there was news. She picked up the phone.

‘Hi, just checking in. All good with the rehearsal and the—?’

I mean, for the actual love of fuck, thought Sal.

‘Yes, Meghan. Everything is pretty much perfect. Couldn’t be better.’

A small hesitation at the other end of the line. Once more, it was impossible to tell if even this fat dart of sarcasm had found Meghan’s arse or gone sailing merrily over. ‘All right. So I just needed to flag up that one of those emails I sent you is hi-pri, it’s pegged as immediate response, so I don’t know if you’re able to be doing that in the car, but …’

‘Hi-pri,’ echoed Sal, feeling everything from the past five hours building in her neck, in her shoulders. So much for the breathing. ‘Do you think it’s more or less “hi” fucking “pri” than stopping my brother committing suicide, Meghan?’ She saw the taxi driver twitch in his seat, in amused pretend-nonchalance. She didn’t care any more. He’d be lucky if he got four stars. He was heading for three, here, which in Uber world was like spitting in someone’s face. ‘Would you be able to “flag up” whether that’s important? Just my thoughts are kind of on that at the moment, rather than doing a photo op with a fucking women’s association representative from Bendigo called Nancy, you know?’

There was a silence from the office, and Sal thought the call had been cut off, and then realized. ‘Oh. Meghan. Don’t … I didn’t mean to make you cry. Hey.’