‘Shay and I went to this cool place in Surry Hills.’ Shay was his girlfriend. I’d met her once last year. She was a nurse and wore vintage floral dresses and purple Docs. ‘All the tables were those old-school arcade machines. You been there?’

I thought for a minute. It sounded familiar, like the kind of sceney bar Nic and I would go to. ‘I don’t think so. Nice?’

‘Yeah, awesome. Shay knows all the best places.’

I picked up my fork. ‘You guys are still together then?’

‘Yeah, yeah.’ Jack grinned. ‘We’re going to London at the end of the year, did I tell you?’

‘No.’

He grinned. ‘Just saving up now.’

‘That’s awesome, I’m jealous.’ I meant it, especially about the jealousy, which tasted like tin on my tongue.

‘Yeah, it’s going to be epic.’ But he sounded bored. His phone vibrated again and he picked it up without another word. I stabbed my fork into a piece of haloumi, holding it up and inspecting it for egg yolk.

‘What’s that?’ Dad asked.

‘Haloumi. It’s Greek.’ I held it out to him. ‘Want some?’

His upper lip flicked up into a grimace as I put it in my mouth. ‘A bit exotic for me, thanks.’

‘It’s fried cheese, Dad. Not black truffles.’

‘Whatever it is, stop playing with it and just eat it,’ Mum interrupted, a single comma of a frown appearing between her eyebrows.

I threw Jack a pleading glance as I chewed. He ignored me, kept tapping.

‘So, are you flying over with us, or with Lina?’

I stopped, closing my eyes. The cafe was suddenly too small, too crowded and something smelled funny—definitely a gas leak.

‘Caitie?’ Dad asked.

I glanced at him, at the light fixture over the bar, too heavy. ‘Sorry.’

He didn’t say anything.

I looked at Mum. ‘I haven’t decided. It’s months away.’

‘Only seven,’ she said. ‘It’s not that hard a decision, surely. And you want to book soon to get a good price without having to fly at eleven at night.’

‘I can sleep on the plane.’

‘That’s not the point.’ She put her spoon down, too loudly. ‘You just don’t seem very excited, Caitlin.’

‘I am,’ I said softly.

‘I can tell.’ I could hear the frustration in her voice.

‘Sorry,’ I said again. My voice broke. I wasn’t apologising to her, and maybe she knew it. Maybe everybody did. I took a long, hard breath, looked up at the ceiling, at the lights—all that lethal, invisible electricity. The cafe was noisy, impossibly noisy, but I was wrapped in a cocoon of silence, thick and hot.

‘I am,’ I said, avoiding the eyes I knew were looking at me, forcing out a smile. ‘It’s going to be great. I think—I just have a headache.’ A tumour. Another one; a new one.

‘You should drink more water,’ Mum said.