‘No.’ Dawn gestures for her to sit, looking concerned. ‘What’s gotten into you lately? Is everything alright at home?’

Oli wavers at the uncharacteristic kindness in Dawn’s voice. Her arms and legs feel heavy, and her knees start to give.

‘Don’t get me wrong,’ Dawn continues, ‘the podcast is shaping up well, but you seem a bit off. Do you need to take some personal time?’

Noise builds in Oli’s ears: a fine thread of sound, like the ground cracking before an earthquake. The memory of Mary’s pitying look flares in her mind’s eye.

‘If you want to have a break, that’s fine—we can cover it if we have to.’

Oli blinks. Her eyes feel hot, and she shakes her head.

‘TJ’s worried about you too, Oli.’

‘I bet he bloody is.’

She stumbles out of Dawn’s office and calls Cooper again. Gets voicemail.

At her desk, she punches in Kylie’s extension without sitting down. It rings twice then clicks, diverting to her mobile. ‘Kylie, hi. Do you know where Cooper is?’

‘Who’s this?’ Kylie is somewhere noisy. ‘Hang on, gimme a tick.’ A series of sounds, like the phone is being thrown around in a wooden box.

‘It’s Oli.’

‘Oh! Hey, Oli. You’re after Cooper? Sorry, I left early today. I’m taking my mother-in-law out for her birthday. Honestly, I deserve all the medals.’

‘You have no idea where he is?’ Oli starts to feel hot and rolls up her sleeves. Lifts the edge of her jumper to fan her clammy stomach.

‘Nope. I really haven’t seen him much the past few days. He’s loving working with you. He’s in and out of the office like some kind of spy. Why? Is everything okay?’

‘Yes, yes, I’m sure it’s fine. We were supposed to meet, but maybe he got held up.’

‘He’s easily distracted! See you tomorrow.’

Oli pulls on her coat and heads outside. She has no particular destination in mind, but she needs to eat. The icy wind chills her teeth, making her jaw ache. Leaves and rubbish clog the gutters, haphazard obstacles for the rainwater to navigate. She falls into step alongside the throng of suit-clad workers, the beat of their steps matching the throb of her headache. A hearty roll of thunder erupts, and a few people look up and laugh nervously. Oli barely registers it. Faces merge into each other as she walks along Lonsdale Street. Smokers huddle in doorways, blocking lighters from the wind. She ducks into a tiny alcove outside a Commonwealth Bank and scans the street, spotting a wine bar on the other side. She darts across, sidestepping a lycra-clad man who flies past on a bike.

‘Ciao.’ An artificially suntanned barman greets her when she enters. ‘We have hairdryers in the bathroom,’ he says conspiratorially, after she orders a hot chocolate and apple pie.