‘It’s making its way to the coast. Geoff’s been telling them for days, it’s building up to hammer them, and we’re sitting here doing nothing.’

‘Who’s them?’

‘Darwin.’

‘Darwin? How many people live there? Anyway, the world can’t jump whenever Geoff has a panic attack.’

I shake the top sheet so it billows out. Mark grabs one edge and pulls it down.

‘Abby, he knew how bad the flood would be before anybody else did, remember?’

‘Would you tuck the ends in?’ I check his handiwork. ‘What’s the point of saying you’ll help and doing such a bad job I have to do it over again?’

‘No point, Abby. None at all.’ He stares at me, hands on his hips. ‘You know, if you want to be a good lawyer you need to be ready for what’s coming, you need to pre-empt it.’

‘I’m ready. I’m the one who makes sure there’s food for dinner, clothes to wear, candles for blackouts.’

‘I meant you need to think about what’s happening outside the walls of this house.’

I wish I could tell him it’s not that simple, that the air from outside flows through this house, poisoning it, that I think about what’s coming all the time. The wave that’s heading our way grows bigger every day – because, despite what I say to Charlie, I know that no secret stays locked away forever, no matter how hard you try.

I wear my most fashionable outfit to dinner: a pantsuit with stripes of ginger, yellow and maroon, and a white shell top. The swoosh of the wide legs as I walk usually makes me feel peppy, but it’s not enough to lift my mood tonight. Before Karen has served the prawn cocktails, my jaw is clench-sore.

Mark adores Jim and Karen, and they adore Mark. And there is my problem. Jim is enthusiastically vocal about the things he finds impressive, and I am not one of them. I’m not famous or accomplished, have no unusual skills or knowledge. Mark, however, impresses him. And he’s on TV. In the glow of their approval, he shines even brighter, while I shrink back, small as a mouse, furious as a lion.

The first time I met Jim, before he knew Karen, one warm afternoon on the downstairs veranda of the Regatta Hotel, I stood and listened while he and Mark talked about Keynes, whose writing they were both studying at uni. I knew nothing about Keynes. For the first few minutes I smiled, tipped my head this way and that, tried to steer the topic towards something I might join in with, to no avail. I’d watched the boats on the river, the traffic on Coronation Drive, gone to the bathroom, fetched another round of drinks and still – still! – they discussed Keynes. Jim was oblivious to my discomfort, but he didn’t matter to me. I’d hoped I’d never see him again. But Mark, who’d been attentive right until Jim had arrived – how was he not noticing how comprehensively they’d excluded me with their arcane topic, their precocious debate? When we’d finally parted company, and I found myself alone with Mark on the footpath, waiting for a taxi, I was livid. Without the right words to explain why.