While they chat, I consider asking Kristin if she wants to buy the flat. She is the kind of person who would have everything in perfect working order all the time. And she and Sheryl only live three feet away. Then my mind wanders to this afternoon’s mediation meeting with Rebecca and our respective lawyers. If only I could send someone else to sort that all out for me as well.

Kristin asks Camille to stop by after the morning rush so she can give her some more information, and says goodbye. We both follow her with our eyes as she heads to the counter. Just then Sheryl appears for her morning coffee before she heads to work. She kisses Kristin fully on the mouth.

“Oh,” Camille says.

“If you hadn’t noticed yet, Darlinghurst is extremely gay friendly.”

“I only arrived late last night.” Camille has suddenly lost some of her easy conversation skills. “I didn’t really get a chance to notice.”

I hope I’m not sitting across from a homophobe. She may look like the nicest woman on the planet, it wouldn’t mean a thing. I’ve heard the vilest things come from the mouths of the most educated, cultured-looking people. Hatred comes in all sorts of disguises.

“You seem to know the owner well. Do you live around here?” Camille has apparently regrouped.

“Not yet, but I plan to. Sheryl, Kristin’s partner”—I nod in the direction of the counter where Sheryl is waiting for her takeaway cup—“and I have a good friend in common, who moved to Darlinghurst six months ago and I’ve been jealous ever since. It’s time for a change of scenery for me, anyway.”

I think of my—our—house in Balmain. How empty and big it feels when I come home these days.

“I can recommend taking a few months off. It does wonders for your perspective,” Camille says. “It helps that Australians are possibly the friendliest people I’ve come across.”

“We do our best.” I give her a wide smile.

“Have you lived in Sydney all your life?”

“I grew up in Perth, where most of my family still live. My great-grandparents immigrated here from India.”

“I went to Perth,” Camille says. “At the beginning of my trip, which feels like two years instead of two months ago.”

My phone starts ringing in my bag. “Sorry, it’s probably work.”

I check the screen and the name of my lawyer comes up.

“Zoya, can we do two instead of three this afternoon?” She’s a matter-of-fact woman who has no time for pleasantries. “I’m asking on behalf of Miss Firth’s lawyer.”

I exhale a deep sigh. “Sure. Let’s get it over with as quickly as possible.”

“Okay. See you then.” She hangs up.

“Typical,” I murmur under my breath.

“Everything okay?” Camille inquires.