I looked away, at the floor, beige lino, faded and starting to bubble. Someday someone would tear all this up and replace it with plush carpet and an office full of web developers. Or knock down the whole building and put up apartments. It might be for the best.

One day, we’d all be dead, I thought. Cancer, car accident, electrocuted by a dodgy kettle. Maybe none of the above. One day, it would all be over, and maybe we’d be ready or maybe we’d be looking the other way—it wouldn’t matter; not really.

All this time we’d spent talking about it would be for nothing.

‘It’s not enough,’ I said softly. ‘I don’t think it’s enough, to just keep talking about it.’

Your old self.

A different person.

You changed.

‘I think I have to do more than that. I have to keep trying. Keep fighting.’

When I forced my eyes back to Frannie, she was staring at her fingernails, baby blue, like the elephant I’d left in Lina’s car.

‘I think we all do,’ I added softly. She smiled, small and uncertain, but I saw it.

I saw hope.

When we were done, I walked down the stairs alone, hands in my pockets. I felt strange, but I couldn’t pick why, not right away. I felt strange all the time now, different, and I was still trying to figure out how all the pieces of myself fit together, how they worked and how to keep them working.

‘You okay?’ Donna asked, coming up beside me as I stood on Crown Street and pulled out my tobacco.

I nodded.

‘Want a tailor?’

I nearly laughed. ‘Thanks,’ I said, putting a filter on my lip and shaking my head. ‘I don’t really like the taste.’

And she did laugh.

I rolled my cigarette, lit it and took a slow, gentle drag. I didn’t like the taste of that either, truth be told, but it was something to do.

‘How are you?’ I asked. ‘Is it helping?’

Donna shrugged. ‘I think so. Sometimes.’

‘How’s Frannie?’

‘She’s okay,’ she said. ‘She’s getting a lot of help, which is good.’

Help.

‘Not just here,’ Donna added quickly. ‘She’s seeing a psychiatrist and she’s on medication. It’s good.’

‘Do you think she’ll be all right?’

I didn’t know what I was asking, or maybe I did. It was about Frannie, but it wasn’t.

She thought for a long time. ‘I think so.’

‘I hope so.’

‘Me too.’

I took another drag of my cigarette, exhaled, stared at the Vietnamese takeaway across the road. ‘Tell her … Tell her I’m sorry.’

Donna nodded. ‘I will.’ She paused. ‘Are you coming back?’

I blinked. Took another drag. ‘No.’

‘Good.’