Paula knew that everyone at the practice had been half expecting her to fall apart after Stacey and the children were killed.

‘What can I do? How can I help?’ Li-Kim asked. She was a deeply kind woman. Paula had been lucky to have her as a friend.

‘I think I need to take a break,’ Paula said. ‘I’m sorry. I know it’s a hassle.’

‘Of course. Don’t worry. Take the time you need, Paula. We’ll cover your sessions.’

‘Thanks, Li-Kim.’

‘You need a break. Don’t worry about anything here.’

‘Thank you.’

Ending that phone call felt decisive, sharp—one more tie to normal life severed.

Paula pulled back out onto the highway, trying to make her crumbly brain work, unsure what to do next. In the rear-view mirror, she caught a glimpse of the ridiculous blonde hair on her head and she was sure she wanted to be rid of it.

She continued on into Bathurst, then drove around until she found a hair salon that was open early and could fit her in on the spot.

The hairdresser was reluctant to cut her hair super short. ‘Are you sure? Sure you want to lose all your lovely long hair?’

Paula was sure.

The young female apprentice washed her hair and installed Paula in the chair with a cape around her. When the hairdresser came over, ready to cut, Paula smiled at him in the mirror, then quickly dropped her gaze.

The hairdresser sussed that this customer wasn’t up for a chat and he began cutting her hair in blessed silence. Paula saw him exchange the occasional look with the apprentice, curious about who this strange woman was.

As chunks of blonde hair began tumbling to the floor, Paula met her own eyes in the mirror. She wasn’t used to the confronting business of sitting in front of a salon mirror in strong lighting, facing herself. She closed her eyes and focused on listening to the swishing sounds of the guy combing her wet hair into sections and then the satisfyingly crisp snip of the scissors slicing through hunks of it.

So much had been subtracted from Paula’s life—her parents, then Remy, then Stacey, Cameron, Poppy. Her sense of herself as an ethical person had gone. And now Anita had been subtracted too.

That was the moment Paula started to cry.

She felt the hairdresser rest his hand softly on her shoulder. ‘Are you okay?’ he asked. ‘Too short? I can stop cutting it so short and we could give you some kind of layered bob.’

‘Sorry, no. The hair is good. Keep going. Me crying is not about the hair.’

‘Okay. If you’re sure.’

‘I’m sure.’

The guy resumed cutting but when Paula continued to cry, he stopped again.

‘I’m okay,’ she assured him. ‘Please keep cutting. Sorry about the crying.’