Ooof! What was this feeling? What was happening right now? Falling and falling while sitting still, bursting and bursting while trying to stop her face from showing any of it. Failing, obviously, by the way his gaze was locking on to hers, his own falling and bursting clear.

‘Can’t believe you remember that.’

‘Best origin story ever, Harris—of course I remember. So it’s her? The same aunty?’

Lena nodded. ‘Nic.’

‘So you and her have been bonded from the start. No wonder you feel like you need to be there for her now.’

She was going to burst open and who knew what would come out? There was too much in her and he was too good at knowing it. Oh god. I have to go. I have to go and sit in a pile of sticky dust and throw out other people’s garbage that my aunt has collected. I have to go and clean up after the woman I’ve looked up to my whole life while she cries and rants like a mad person, while she accuses me of theft and betrayal.

‘I really do have to go, actually.’

He touched her hand. Fast, but oh! Damn. ‘Finish your drink at least. Tell me about Aunty Nic. What do the family legends foretell about her?’

‘I don’t want to talk about her,’ she said.

‘Okay. Tell me something else. Tell me about the music that was playing when you were born. What song was it?’

The song Dad had sung while she was born and that he’d sung to her every year on her birthday and that would sometimes come on the radio or be playing in a shop and wrench her grief up to the surface within a few notes. The song was a massive hit that year and was loved by a lot of people, but no one would expect it to be the most important song in the world to someone her age. No one except Mum and Will and Nic, who knew and who silently reached for her if it ever came on when they were nearby. I just want you to know who I am.

‘Do you think we’re friends?’ she asked Josh.

He bit his lip. ‘I wish we could be.’

Lena finished her beer. Too much, too fast. Her eyes and nose watered. ‘I’m going.’

‘Okay. But … can I see you again? I mean, I know it’s … I know I’m asking a lot, but … I really like you, Lena. I can’t stop thinking about when we—’

‘Thinking about? Or watching?’

‘How many times can I tell you I’m sorry?’

‘I know you’re sorry. I’m sorry, too, because I really like you. Or I did. I can’t trust you, though, so that’s it.’ She slid from the booth before he could speak again. God, she liked him. It was pathetic.