He leaves and right away her blood is itching worse than ever. There’s something that would make this better if she could only think of it. She should know. What makes someone better. What will help. An original Western Suburbs jersey she bought at good old Tempe tip a few years back. Yes! Thought to herself at the time it’d be good for Will and it would, it will. What else? That Nintendo console some spoilt dickhead put out last hard rubbish night. She just needed to find some controllers and give it a clean and it’d be perfect. Take his mind off it all. Oh! And what about the stack of self-help books she’d bought at the big Dymocks sale a couple of years back? One was about resilience, she remembers, another about self-esteem. She’d felt embarrassed buying them, but as she told the kid ringing them up, life can be hard and sooner or later someone she knew would need them.

‘Nicole, can we chat a minute?’ The social worker is suddenly there by her bed. No clip-cloppy high-heels today. She’s padded in as soft and sure as a nurse. She grabs the remote and switches off the TV even though Nic had it on mute, subtitles only. ‘I’m told you’re doing really, really well.’

‘Apparently not well enough to let me leave.’

‘That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I’ve been speaking to your niece and she tells me that your home is in a safe condition for you to return to, which is fantastic news.’

Nic says nothing. Silently thanks Lena for convincing this professional busybody that all is well.

‘I’m heading over there later today just to—’

‘Heading where?’

She flashes her teeth. What is she smiling at, for god’s sake? ‘Your house. Lena is going to meet me there so I can complete a walk-through. Soon as I’m done, I’ll sign here.’ She holds up the green binder. ‘Then all you need is your doctor’s sign-off and we’ll have you out of here. Could be as early as tomorrow. How’s that sound?’

‘I haven’t agreed to …’ Her voice is barely audible, damn it. She reaches for her water, sends the plastic cup flying.

The social worker sidesteps the splash, murmurs reassurance that she’ll get someone in to clean it up and bring fresh water.

‘So I’ll pop back and see you later today, let you know how we got on, okay?’

It sounds like a question but the social worker doesn’t wait for an answer, turns and leaves. Nic goes for her phone, sees it’s dead, yells out like she’s been shot. An aide rushes in, rolls his eyes when she asks him to help with the charger, but he finds it quickly, plugs in her phone within reach.