Lena was early, which was not unusual. It was also not unusual for her to be late, such was the reality of Sydney buses. Aunty Nic relied on the buses, too, and so was always either early or late as well. Today she was late. At five past, Lena allowed herself to check her phone. Twelve messages but none from Nic. At quarter past she checked again—six more—and then shot a text to Nic to check she was close.

At 12.20 she tried to call, but the phone went to voicemail. The waiter hovered. Lena sipped the water he’d brought when she arrived. She spent ten minutes deleting obscene messages from her Facebook account, then another ten going through her friends list and deleting any randoms. Every minute or so the phone would buzz to let her know someone else had messaged her. If it wasn’t from Nic—and it never was—she deleted it unread. The place filled up with couples and families and the scent of garlic and onion and roasted tomatoes. Lena tried calling again—straight through to voicemail. She opened the Transport NSW app, hoping to find a notice about a strike or major roadworks on Nic’s route. For once, it seemed all the buses were running on time.

Annie had watched the video, obviously, before she’d texted in the middle of the night. Annie who had shiny black hair like in a shampoo commercial and perfectly arched eyebrows and not a single other hair on her body. Annie who didn’t let herself orgasm during sex because it would mean losing control in front of a man.

Who else had watched it? Who else that she knew, that knew her?

The waiter asked if she wanted to order yet, his glance moving between her empty water glass and the empty chair across from her. Lena told him she would wait and his expression was pure hate but only for a split second before it morphed back into professional blankness. When he was gone, she called her mum.

‘Is it the end of days? A blue moon? What is this miracle occurrence, a phone call from my daughter?’

‘Hilarious, Mum. I just wanted to know if you’ve heard from Nic lately.’

‘She calls even less than you do. Why?’

‘We were meant to meet for lunch but she’s, like, an hour late.’

‘Did you call her?’

Lena pulled a face at the phone. ‘Not answering.’

A pause. ‘Well, you know what she’s like.’

‘She’s very reliable, actually.’

‘Nicole? Please. She’s so … you know.’

‘I don’t, Mum. But it doesn’t matter. You haven’t heard from her. That’s all I needed to know.’

‘Don’t be like that, Leenie.’