Tyler stretched out one long limb, then the other, the toe of one of his boots resting against Emily’s foot and she tucked it underneath her, safely out of reach.

“Really?” he said with a yawn. “My grandad just told us all to go and get pissed at his local.”

Phoebe punched him lightly on the arm, and he offered up a mock oh! in response. “My point is, when they’re gone, they’re gone, so why does it matter if she doesn’t go through with it? Catriona would never know.”

“I. Would. Know.” Emily snatched Tyler’s beer from his hand, finished it in two gulps, ignoring the way he was looking at her, like she was some pup that needed to be watched with care.

He opened up the small refrigerator in between the seats, took out another beer and popped off the lid. Emily tried not to watch his lips as they parted, tried not to watch the rise and fall of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed.

“And it’s her home.”

Shut up, Tyler, Emily screamed at him in her head.

“Sounds like she could buy one hundred homes with all the money she’s set to inherit.” Phoebe kicked off her sandals, laid her legs across Tyler’s lap. “Catriona Robinson made The Sunday Times Rich List the last five years in a row. And death is always good for sales.”

“That’s hardly the point, sweetheart,” Tyler said as he rubbed his hand up and down her thigh. “If she doesn’t complete the trial,” he went on, with a look over at Emily, “she doesn’t inherit a penny.”

Of course, it’s money that you’re concerned with, she thought to herself.

Emily was aware of how her foot continued to bounce up and down, that her fingers were scratching against her palms and the space in her chest continued to shrink, to make her heart feel as if it were about to explode inside of her.

Not here. She absolutely could not have a panic attack thousands of feet above the earth.

“But that’s just awful.” Phoebe sat a little straighter. “What happens to the money if you fail?”

Emily sat forward, helped herself to another drink. “The bar-headed goose is thought to be the model for the Hamsa of Indian mythology.”

“Sorry, what?” Phoebe replied.

“I don’t care,” Emily said, and it was true. She didn’t care if she wasn’t saying the words properly. All she wanted was to drown out the sound, the nearness, of them both. Normally it would be easy, she could simply listen to music, close her eyes and block out the world, but she had forgot to put her Discman in her hand luggage because she was just a little bit nervous about getting in a lump of metal that would then fly through the sky with nothing below to catch them when they fell.

“She does this when she’s nervous.” Tyler swigged his beer, crossed his legs so that Phoebe had to move her own.