‘But it’s Sunday. Come on, you need a day off.’ God, she hoped she didn’t sound too desperate.

‘I know, I know. I’m so sorry. I would but I fell behind on my word count this week.’

Tony kept a whiteboard above his desk where he had all his days planned out with a word count he had to hit both daily and weekly in order to reach his target by the deadline. As far as Andrea knew, neither of his brothers worked that way, but she supposed it was one of the side effects of transitioning from accounting into writing.

The day she’d met Tony she’d borne witness to his admirably organised approach to life. Their meeting place was a little unusual — the pain relief section of the chemist. Andrea had been looking for something to help her get through a migraine she could feel coming on. She’d assumed the man standing to her right looking at the children’s Panadol must have been a dad. He’d glanced sideways when she let out a tut of frustration as she tried to decide between brands, her mind already starting to cloud over as the migraine took hold.

‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘Didn’t mean to do that out loud. I just can’t think.’ She rubbed her hand against her forehead.

‘Don’t be sorry,’ he said. ‘Maybe I can help.’ He’d stepped towards her and picked up a couple of boxes off the shelf. ‘You’ve got a headache?’ he asked. ‘This one is really good for targeting specific pain. But are you feeling sick as well?’

She’d given him a wry smile. ‘Are you a doctor or something?’

‘Not even close, I’m an accountant. I just like to store useful information like this. Never know when it might come in handy.’

‘Well, I’m feeling everything bad right about now. Killer migraine.’

‘Got it,’ he’d said, putting the first box back on the shelf. ‘You should go with this one. Easy on the stomach.’

She’d reached out to take the tablets from him but then her vision had begun to blur and she’d stumbled.

He’d stepped in closer to steady her. ‘Hey, are you okay?’

‘No . . . Not really.’

He’d guided her to the waiting area seats near the prescription counter and told her to hold on. She’d expected him to palm her off to staff, but instead, a minute later he returned with a box of tablets and a bottle of water that he’d purchased himself. He’d pressed two capsules into her hand, unscrewed the cap off the water and passed it over.

‘I double-checked with the pharmacist. These are definitely the best for migraines,’ he’d said. ‘Combination of both paracetamol and ibuprofen. I’ll sit with you until it kicks in.’