I didn’t have enough other people in my life to cover the loss of this many people at once. I didn’t have any spare aunties or cousins or grandparents. I didn’t have backup. I didn’t have insurance to cover a loss like this.

The pain felt so physical: like huge patches of my skin were ripped off and have never healed.

And now the hypnotist is having a baby.

So, Mum, I know, it’s a good job and they pay me, but ever since I saw the hypnotist’s pregnancy tests, I’ve had these strange images running through my head at work. Sometimes I imagine throwing a hot cup of coffee straight at a colleague’s face, or tearing off all my clothes and running naked into the boardroom shouting obscenities, or picking up a pair of scissors and driving the sharp edge over and over into my thigh. You would not understand that. Crazy thoughts didn’t run through your head.

So I called in sick and went to the beach to learn how to boogie board.

It was harder than I expected. The board was slippery. Why was it so slippery? I couldn’t seem to keep it in position under my stomach. I kept sliding off. That had never looked like a problem when I saw other people doing it. I got mad and swore. I thought, Even the boogie board doesn’t want me.

And then when I did manage to hold the board still, I couldn’t seem to get my timing right to actually catch a wave.

I thought, Six-year-old boys can do this, what’s wrong with me?

I thought, Other people find love and have babies and make families, what’s wrong with me?

I thought, Other people don’t obsess over their ex-boyfriends, what’s wrong with me?

I considered letting the board float away to sea in a fit of petulance, but it seemed too wasteful, and I was already ashamed enough about my day off.

When I was walking up to the car, sniffing and cold and cranky because I couldn’t even seem to fit the stupid board comfortably under my arm, I saw that woolly-haired man who had seen me the day I fell asleep in my red dress. He was walking down to the beach with his boogie board stuck comfortably under one arm.

“How’s the surf?” he said.

“Stupid,” I said, and kept walking.

When I got to my car, my mobile phone was ringing.

It was the hypnotist.

The experience of flying together for the first time made Ellen and Patrick chatty and overexcited. They both got the giggles as a flight attendant did an especially grim-faced safety demonstration, although nobody else seemed amused by her. They had bought novels to read on the plane, but they both kept putting them down on their laps to talk.

Patrick seemed especially high-spirited.

“I didn’t even ask if you’ve been to Noosa before,” he said, as the plane took off.

“I haven’t,” said Ellen. “What about you?”

“Just once,” said Patrick. “Actually, it’s where I met Saskia.”

Ellen noted that it was one of the rare times that he actually spoke about her as if she was just a normal girl.

“How did you meet?” she asked, trying to keep her voice light and not overly interested.

“We were both in Noosa for a conference,” said Patrick. “She’s a town planner, have I mentioned that? Anyway, I sat next to her at one of the sessions. It’s strange, because I felt like I was a bit insane then; I think I was still in shock over Colleen’s death, and Saskia seemed so sane. She was into bushwalking and she took me on these great long hikes through the national park. I hadn’t been doing any exercise and all of a sudden my heart was pumping, and I was getting air into my lungs, and looking at these stunning views made me feel like it was possible to be happy again.”

“Endorphins,” said Ellen. “We’ll have to do some walks this weekend.”

And when you’re pumped full of happy endorphins, I’ll tell you about the baby.

“Yeah, I’d like that. For a while there, Saskia and I were bushwalking every weekend, but then she got this problem with her leg. She couldn’t walk for hardly any distance without getting pain. It really affected her.”

“What was wrong with it?” said Ellen. There was something strangely familiar about this story. Had Patrick already told her about Saskia’s leg? She was sure she would have remembered. She’d carefully hoarded all the information he’d handed over about Saskia.

“Nobody could tell her. She went to doctor after doctor, physiotherapists, nobody could help her. One specialist suggested it was all in her mind, and Saskia was so angry she walked straight out.”

Ellen was aware of a strange slippery feeling of panic, as if she’d just remembered she’d forgotten to turn off the stove.

“Sometimes she had to bring a chair into the kitchen so she could sit down to cook dinner,” mused Patrick. “It changed her personality. She used to be so sporty. I tried to be sympathetic, but then I got so frustrated because there was nothing I could do about it. She thought I was losing patience with her, but I wasn’t. I felt for her, I did. It just frustrated the hell out of me because I couldn’t fix it. It reminded me of when Colleen was sick. That useless feeling. Like you’re losing a fight, and you can’t even take a swing.”

Patrick was distracted by the approach of the flight attendant. He twisted his head to look. “Should we have a drink? Except we’ll have to pay for it, so it doesn’t seem as decadent. That’s the problem with these cheap flights.”

It couldn’t just be a coincidence, could it?