‘Worth a shot,’ Geoff said, patting my arm as he and Carlos walked past. ‘See you ladies next week, yeah?’

‘Yeah,’ I said, smiling, forgetting they were there before they’d even turned away.

‘Do you live far?’ Donna asked. ‘I’m driving.’

‘Not far.’ I took a proper drag, looking down at my boots, scuffed at the toe. ‘Thanks, but I’m okay.’

Her lips came apart like she was going to say whatever it was she’d wanted to say before, but she thought better of it and put her cigarette in her mouth instead.

‘How long have you been coming here?’

‘About a year,’ I said, shrugging, trying not to think about it.

‘Does it help?’

I nodded, but didn’t answer, wasn’t sure how. ‘Are you coming back?’ I asked.

She paused for a second. ‘Yeah. I think so.’

‘Good.’

I wasn’t sure it was good that she hadn’t found us ghoulish or exhausting and run off into the night, never to be seen again. I didn’t know what it said about her, or me, but I was glad for it anyway. I put the rollie back in my mouth and hitched my bag further onto my shoulder. ‘See you next week,’ I said.

She nodded, and as I turned I forgot she was there too.

Carlos didn’t have his licence. Frannie didn’t smoke, didn’t drink, didn’t eat bacon or ham or salami and wore sunscreen religiously. Glenn, who wasn’t there tonight but who was waiting for a tsunami, hadn’t been east of Paddington in seven years. I didn’t know, but I was willing to bet Donna didn’t get on a train unless she absolutely had to.

I walked home by myself, every night.

Late at night, early in the morning, I walked everywhere. Over the past year or so—maybe longer—I’d mapped out the entire city, walked down every darkened lane and crossed every dodgy park and taken every dodgier shortcut, my skin crawling with goosebumps so permanent they may as well have been tattoos. I walked quickly, always vigilant, hyper-aware, scanning for threats and listening for footsteps or car engines, keys jammed between my fingers the whole way, like I’d been taught in one of the dozens of self-defence talks we were given at school. As though they’d help, as though I’d know exactly where to aim my key-fist when somebody grabbed me from behind and pulled me into a waiting car.

As though I could be bothered.