Sophia said that earlier in the day she’d interviewed for a position at a garden centre, but it hadn’t gone well. She wished she could do it over. The problem was, Sophia hardly slept the night before, her mind wouldn’t switch off, and at the interview she lost her train of thought several times. Then some questions she couldn’t answer, her brain like jammed machinery. That morning she wasn’t a functioning adult. Afterwards she went home and slept two hours and woke up to restart the day and she kicked herself for failing her kid. Sophia needed a job: anything would do. Nine weeks ago, the landlord of their townhouse raised the rent to a ridiculous amount she couldn’t afford. Now she was on the waiting list for government housing, but that would take at least a year. Until she could get some money together, Sophia and Jamie were staying with a friend. Jamie’s father was entirely out of the picture; when the relationship ended, he moved back to Italy, where he was a citizen, and where he could avoid being policed for non-payment of child support. The international treaty on child support, said Sophia, was a real piece of shit.

‘I’m sleeping on my friend Nicole’s couch, and her two girls share a room, leaving Jamie a room to himself. If the situation gets unpleasant we’ll move on. And knowing Nicole, it will probably get unpleasant.’

‘When did you last speak to Lucky?’

‘He calls and we chat. I like the guy. I guess I’m the daughter he didn’t have. But, see, it’s not good for me to talk to him—I want to be free of the shooting, everything about it. After this interview I don’t want to talk about it anymore. People ask me about the Third of April. It doesn’t stop. At work, at barbecues, wherever. At the fucking job interview this morning they asked. People are curious about death and mayhem.’

‘Do you feel at all that some good came out of the Third of April? That it contributed to critical mass that, after Port Arthur happened, led to gun legislation being changed?’

‘Maybe that’s true. But do I turn to that fact when I’m struggling with things in my mind? Not on bad nights.’ She looked at her watch. ‘I’m almost out of time. I need to get a bus to Jamie’s school and bring him home.’

‘I have a car,’ said Emily. ‘I could take you to pick up your son and then drop you anywhere you like.’

‘As long as you don’t write a word about Jamie.’

4.