The phone buzzed on the desk. Both of them glanced down at it, and their faces were very close together for a moment. When Meghan spoke again, Sal could smell her breath, which was agreeably tangy, like sour sweets.

‘So …?’

‘Well, if I could do anything I’d – I wouldn’t go to this dinner. I wouldn’t do the speech. I’d just sack it off. I wouldn’t even tell Dec. I don’t want to be answerable to anyone.’

‘And what would you do instead?’ asked Meghan, in a reasonable, throwaway voice that wasn’t quite hers.

‘I don’t know. You tell me!’ Sal heard the heaviness of her own attempt at levity. Her voice sounded loud and affected, like a supply teacher’s, like a recording of herself that was embarrassing to watch back.

‘Well, you could do anything – anything’s possible?’ Meghan gestured out of the window, intentionally or otherwise enlisting the whole of Melbourne in her escape plan. ‘You could tell Dec you have to deal with this, he’s not going to hear from you for a while? You could tell them, it’s a family emergency – which it is – and, tough, they’ll have to have their event without you. It happens.’ Meghan shrugged. She looked a little surprised by her own speech, as if she had part-convinced herself.

‘And then what?’ Sal asked. She imagined Dec on the phone, angry. The event organizer, her management. Putting them all on mute. Calling Mum, getting through to James somehow. ‘We just run off to the country for the night? We go off grid?’

‘I mean, yeah – I don’t know,’ said Meghan. ‘I’m just trying to help you to – I’m just wanting to explore the options with you. And tell you … it’s not on you. It doesn’t all have to be about you.’

There was a silence. Untouched on the table, the phone performed a little thrashing dance of irritation. It was another missed call.

‘I mean, they’re – like, this is no offence, but they’re either going to find your brother, find James, or they’re not,’ said Meghan. ‘You’re a long way away from it, here.’