Biddy: Introversion is one thing, Chris, but depression is quite another. I’m worried you’re putting too much pressure on yourself.

Fuck her. Don’t reply, listen to your music, feel your chest expand, contract, your healthy heart, the crisp evening air on your skin. I’d helped her with her show, suggested she improvise a separate monologue to Aidan every night. The poor –

Just keep –

I stopped, texted: Biddy, don’t worry. I’m just walking and listening to music – honestly, I’m fine!

Bounding, sweat on my back, deep breaths, powering uphill, my aerobic engine engaged, singing … La, la – Fuck.

Biddy: Threatening to jump in front of a train is not fine, Chris!

Walking. Fuck her. I didn’t even say that. Fuck Sarah.

I stopped walking, sat on a bench next to the racecourse, texted Sarah: Can’t believe you’ve brought Biddy in on this. I’d never jump in front of a train. Way too squeamish. Gross

And then, to Biddy: I actually just wanted to be alone for an hour, Biddy. Now I’m in no rush to come home FFS

A car passing at speed, unsettling the leaves.

Three dots – Sarah: Chris, I’m really worried and need you to come home. I want to give you what you need. I love you

Fucking fuck. I texted: What I need is some time alone, Sarah – like, right now. I’m just listening to my music, walking, and don’t feel like talking to anyone. No need for an intervention!

Standing, walking, texting both: I’m down to 1% battery, phone about to die.

I was on 28 per cent, but fuck …

* * *

I sat on the wall bordering Queens Park, listening to Hunky Dory and harmonising – no beeps, no interruptions, just cars passing, the occasional dog walker.

Ooooohhhhhh, oooo –

Fuck, my phone ringing. I pulled it from my pocket:

No Caller ID.

Great. A cold-caller. Sarah and Biddy trying to reach me on a different phone. My mother ringing from beyond the grave to wish me a happy belated birthday.

Ring-ring …

It was my second birthday without her …

Ring-ring …

She’d been there at my birth, the other half of that event … Fuck.

‘Hello.’

‘It’s the Brunswick Police,’ a woman said. ‘Can I just confirm who I’m talking with?’

‘Chris Flood.’

‘OK, good. Are you feeling OK, Chris?’

‘Yeah, I’m fine, thanks, yeah.’

She cleared her throat. ‘We’ve received a call from a friend of yours who’s quite concerned about you. Can you tell me where you are?’

‘Oh, just out and about.’ I pulled one of my legs onto the wall, held my ankle, leant over. ‘I’m in the Moonee Ponds area.’

‘You’re in the Moonee Ponds chemist?’ Alarm in her voice.