‘If Stacey was here right now, she’d be like an energy source in the room. But she wouldn’t try to be the centre of attention or anything. She’d galvanise the place, connect people, get them talking to each other. Contagious enthusiasm. People used to wait for her to arrive at a party, you know? And she wasn’t only like that in a crowd. I mean, even when it was just the two of us, I was always the best version of myself with Stacey. I was funnier and smarter and nicer—if that makes any sense.’

‘It does. I’ve got a cousin who’s that person for me.’

He smiled broadly just thinking about this cousin. Anita realised she’d only ever seen him in the context of crime scenes and court appearances and sombre moments, when a bold smile would not have been appropriate. This was the first time she’d seen Rohan Mehta smile with full wattage. It was a good smile.

Then he asked, ‘Do you reckon you were smarter and funnier with Stacey, or did it just feel that way?’

‘Legitimate question. I don’t know. I’m such a suggestible person, I can’t judge. With my friend Paula, I often feel like I’m too impulsive, neurotic, a “silly duffer”, but that’s not Paula’s fault. It’s not because of something she’s doing to me. Well, Paula can radiate a bit of that patronising doctor thing—but it’s totally benign and it comes from good intentions. Shit … sorry, I feel disloyal saying that.’

‘No, don’t worry, I get it,’ he assured her. ‘It’s a manner a lot of doctors take on, don’t you reckon?’

‘I do. And look, the main thing to say is that Paula’s a wonderful doctor. I’ve snooped online—those review sites where people rate their doctors. Patients all love her, really rely on her, trust her advice.’

‘And you do too.’

‘God, yeah. Sometimes I vow to hide my fuck-ups from Paula, but I never can. I have to tell her every important thing in my life, even if I know she’s going to tell me I’m a silly duffer. In the end, I always want that bracing advice from her.’ Anita barked a laugh and Rohan smiled.

‘Mind you,’ Anita added, ‘I’m a woman with a long CV of defunct relationships, dealing with the internet dating circus, so how can I realistically discuss my experiences with a woman who met Mr Perfect on her first day at medical school?’

‘This is Paula’s husband who died?’

‘Yeah. Remy. He was a neurologist. Described himself as an ABC—Australian-born Chinese. Very kind guy and so handsome—I’m talking joke-handsome. We were expecting them to have absurdly beautiful children soon. Until Remy was diagnosed with sarcoma. He was gone within nine months.’

‘That’s brutal. Poor Paula.’