Tully thought of the bill from lunch yesterday. After Dad announced his engagement to Heather, Tully had slipped into an odd sort of mania and insisted on paying the bill. She’d expected her father to fight her, and he did a little, but she was adamant. Sonny would choke on his own saliva when he saw the credit card statement, but in her defence, she was still getting used to her new life as a pauper. And, in her very-recent old life, if she wanted to do something, she did it. She didn’t have to save up or shop around for a bargain. How privileged she’d been. She pictured herself in a sumptuous silk gown, dripping with jewels, her hair adorned with feathers and pearls. Let them eat cake!

She was going mad. Maybe she’d always been a bit mad?

She stopped at the traffic lights. The high from her retail therapy was starting to wear off. She felt so jittery that when her phone started ringing she screamed.

‘Oh,’ she said, when she realised where the sound was coming from. The phone. She accepted the call. ‘Tully Harris.’

‘Tully, it’s Rachel.’

That was a surprise. Rachel never called her. Rachel preferred text messages – short perfunctory statements with clear action items. Dad’s birthday. Might get wine from Laura’s vineyard on Saturday. Want to chip in? Or, Visited Mum today. Dad says she needs more underwear. Bonds cottontails, size 12, 4 pairs. Can you drop them off tomorrow? Why was she calling?

‘Hi, Rach,’ she said. ‘I’m just leaving Westfield.’

‘Bought anything good?’

Tully glanced at the back seat again. ‘Some running leggings. I thought I might start running. Hey, maybe we could go together sometime?’

Rachel used to love running. As a teen, she used to disappear for hours, running along the beach path, and would come back sweaty and resplendent. She used to say there was nothing that made her feel as good as running. But when she was about sixteen, she stopped abruptly and never ran again.

‘I’m not sure I could run to the end of the street right now, Tul,’ Rachel said. ‘But thanks. Anyway, how are you?’

How are you? How long had it been since someone asked her that? Tully would have been touched if she weren’t simultaneously worried that the question was directly related to an R U OK? day or something. Rachel was always so tapped into those sorts of days. So ‘woke’. And there was nothing wrong with being woke, obviously. But in this particular instance, the question would have meant more if not the result of wokeness.

‘I’m fine,’ Tully said cautiously. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘A girl can ask her sister how she is, can’t she?’

‘A girl can,’ Tully said. ‘But a girl usually doesn’t.’

‘Anyway, I just wanted to check in. There’s been a lot going on. Mum moving into the nursing home. Dad starting up with Heather. The engagement. The divorce.’

‘Did Dad ask you to check on me?’ Tully asked.