Over the next half-hour, there was a flurry of comings and goings from the pub. Anita declined an invitation to make it ‘a big night’ at some bar down at the Quay with the bunch of noisy lawyers. She wriggled out of having dinner at a Thai place with one of the journos (a lovely woman) who was making sympathetic ‘I know you’re struggling’ faces at her.

As people left, others swapped seats and slid along benches, so that when Rohan Mehta came back from a run to the bar, there was an obvious empty spot next to Anita.

‘Okay if I sit here?’

Mehta stood, waiting for her to respond, and Anita realised she was gawping at him without answering.

‘Oh. Yes. Yes!’ she said quickly. ‘Please.’

He sat next to her on the bench seat.

‘Sorry if I’m a bit …’ Anita mimed being spaced out and, by way of explanation, she added, ‘I was on that fraud trial today.’

‘Phoo … those endless pages of figures.’ He shook his head. ‘That stuff fries my brain.’

‘Me too. I was never good at sums. Had a maths teacher who made me chant “Numbers are my friends” over and over.’

‘Did it help?’

‘Apparently not. I’m still barely numerate,’ she said.

Rohan smiled.

Anita closed her eyes and puffed out a breath, defeated.

‘You okay?’ he asked.

‘Please excuse me. I don’t think I’m capable of chatting like a regular human being. Not to you, especially.’

She felt him looking at her, concerned more than offended, but she still worried she might have been rude, so she added, ‘Sorry if that sounds—I just meant that because you’re connected to Stacey’s case, engaging in small talk is hard to—y’know … Sorry.’

Rohan nodded. No explanation was required. Then he said, ‘I’m happy to engage in big talk, if you want.’

He said the words lightly. No pressure. She felt her stomach muscles—permanently knotted tight these days—relax a little, with that sense of being at ease with the other person. She turned the beer glass on the table in front of her and let a silence sit there. It struck her that even the silence was comfortable with this guy.

Eventually, she said, ‘I wish you could’ve met Stacey. Oh shit—is it okay for me to talk to you about a victim in a coronial case that you’re working on?’

‘It’s okay.’