As suddenly as it started, the hail stops, replaced by tiny javelins of rain. Easing out of the cul-de-sac, Oli connects her phone to Bluetooth and calls her mother.

‘Olive?’ Sally Groves answers straight after the first ring, her voice ready for bad news.

‘Hi, Mum.’ Oli’s organs tense one by one.

‘Oh. Well.’ Sally sounds both relieved and concerned. ‘How are you?’

‘I’m fine, Mum. Busy. There’s a lot going on at work.’

‘Yes. Lily said that.’

This is why I don’t call, thinks Oli. It’s so excruciating.

‘How are you, Mum? How is Max?’

‘Not too good,’ Sally says glumly. ‘Max has to get a mole removed next week.’

Oli stifles a sigh. ‘What did the doctor say?’

‘Just that he needs to have it removed.’

‘But they don’t think it’s malignant or anything?’

‘No,’ Sally admits.

‘Hopefully he’ll be fine, then.’

‘I suppose so.’

Oli finds it hard to remember whether Sally has been worse since that night at the house, the horrible night when she found Oli’s diary, or whether she has always been like this. On a daily basis, life swallows Sally up and spits her out again. She finds simple tasks overwhelming and the concept of looking on the bright side unfathomable. Her melancholy is like a huge sinkhole, threatening to suck Oli in every time they talk. She can’t get off the phone fast enough.

‘How are the girls?’ Sally asks.

‘Good. Busy with their music and school.’

‘They must be so sad. Poor things, losing their mother like that.’

For a brief moment Oli considers telling Sally about the swimming carnival, just to give her a peek into her life as a stepmother, but she fears Sally will sense her vulnerability, pounce on it and amplify her own doubts.

‘It must be school holidays next week already? My word, it will be Christmas again before we know it. No doubt there will be more horrible hot weather.’

Disproportionally annoyed, Oli wonders if this is what every one of their conversations will be like until one of them dies: an awkward circling of the one thing they have never spoken about; Oli’s anger and Sally’s guilt, a dark filth that grows and festers between them.

‘Yes, holidays start tomorrow. I’m actually just driving back to the office now, Mum, so I can’t talk for long.’ Oli’s tone is firm.

‘Of course not, no.’ Oli knows Sally is sitting somewhere in the small unit she shares with Max, knees crossed, shoulders hunched, taking up as little space as possible.

‘Okay. Well, take care, Mum.’ Relief builds in anticipation of the call ending.

‘One thing, Oli.’

‘What is it, Mum?’

‘I listened to your new radio show this morning. About that horrible murder.’ Sally’s words come out in a hasty tumble. ‘It was very good.’