‘Oh hell,’ Duke says. ‘No wonder you felt rough this morning. I …’ He trails off. Is he going to tell her? He can trust her, can’t he? ‘I know how that feels,’ he concludes. ‘After my first Marvel movie I started to get them. I don’t even mean on set, or after, on the press tour. I mean after I landed the role, before I even got the full script. The idea of being in the Marvel universe sent me …’ He doesn’t have the word, so he makes a honking noise instead, hoping that gives her the gist.

‘Oh,’ she says. ‘Well, I am very sorry to learn that. Last night was the first time I’ve ever properly felt like I was out of control of my body, and it’s a hard pass from me, a hard do not recommend.’

‘Do you know what caused it?’ Duke asks, knowing it’s not always that simple. He can be triggered by specific things, still – especially doing seventeen-hour press days in foreign countries and having to be ‘on’ all the time, since one bad interview out of fifty good ones will be the one to go mad online, sinking a movie even if it’s the best thing that’s ever been made. It’s a big weight to carry. But also, he can feel like the floor has been pulled out from under him, just sat in his car at a red light or at home watching screeners.

She doesn’t speak. He peeks at her again. Her eyes are still closed.

‘I’m not sure,’ she says. ‘I had a call with my agent, and it was all good, and then …’

‘Bam,’ Duke supplies.

‘Yeah,’ she says. ‘It was so unusual. I googled it, and I found a website that said to get outside as quick as possible. They call it nature-bathing? Just … being in nature, letting it wash over you and reminding you of your place in the world?’

‘You say it like you’re cynical.’ Duke laughs. ‘How unexpected.’ Obviously he means the opposite. Cynical is just about her middle name.

She hits his arm again.

‘Ouch!’ he exclaims. ‘Can you not?’

He can almost hear her smirking.

‘Question,’ Duke prompts then. ‘It was after good news that it happened? Like when I got the Marvel role?’

‘Yup,’ says Evie. ‘I don’t claim for it to make any sense.’

‘Oh no,’ he insists. ‘It makes perfect sense. My therapist calls it acclimatisation. Like if you hike Everest, the air thins and you need time to get used to it. When we experience even the best stuff, or our reality gets heightened or altered dramatically, our air thins and we need time to get used to it before digging in. Extreme good can be as mind-blowing as bad stuff happening, physiologically speaking.’

She reaches out then, searching for his hand. ‘Thank you,’ she tells him. ‘Just … thank you.’