‘Thank you,’ says Evie. ‘I appreciate that. And just so you know, I’m out of the country until just before Christmas now – I’m actually getting on the plane.’ She navigates the air gate, almost toppling over a toddler who randomly stops and sits down in front of her, a grown-up looking mortified behind him. ‘So please do keep in touch,’ she continues, stepping around the kid, who is now crying. ‘Just don’t be put off if you get an international dial tone. I did mention it when I came to say goodbye this week, but you never know if it’s actually been noted, you know?’

‘Good to know,’ says Polly. ‘I’ll double-check. And, erm, Ms Bird, whilst I have you …’

Evie knows exactly what Polly is going to say. She’s heard it from them so many times before: the slight cough that indicates a segue from pleasantries to a discussion of money. Evie’s shoulders immediately tense.

‘Oh,’ Evie says, trying to save face. ‘Sorry to interrupt you, just while I remember. I’ve left a cheque for you with my friend. She should be dropping it off. It’s for the past three months – I’ve been so slammed with work I’ve not been on top of my admin. I apologise for the delay. And I fully intend to get all caught up over the holidays, too, so I’ll be sure to pay up front from here on out. I should get some help, really, since I’m so forgetful. Ha, ha.’

Evie is painfully aware that she’s suddenly talking a dime a dozen, barely pausing for breath lest Polly finds a space between her words to berate her. She should be better with money; she knows she should. It’s not like she doesn’t make money, it’s just … somehow it always seems to leave her accounts as fast as it comes in. It’s always been like that, like a compulsion. She should get a financial adviser, especially now her years of hard work are paying off. She’s never made an abnormal amount of money, even though her job is to essentially sit at a computer and play make-believe all day. But now her books are getting more attention – thanks, in part, to the news of the movie adaptation – she needs to be more responsible. It’s just … there’s always a reason to treat herself. A good writing day or a bad writing day or the finishing of a draft or missing her mom being fully cognisant or the start of summer or the end of summer … Evie buys clothes and make-up and perfume and bags, even though she never really goes anywhere.