Missing.

He is missing.

Your husband is missing.

‘Mum!’

She turns to her daughter leaning over the kitchen bench, scowling. Still in her soccer gear, she is long-legged and ponytailed. It is untenable how much longer she gets each day.

Essie holds out her screen. ‘The Friendship Project – you haven’t signed the form.’

There is always something else. ‘You sure I didn’t sign it already?’

Essie sighs. ‘No, you didn’t. Everyone else got to start uploading today and I didn’t. ’Cos you haven’t signed the form.’

Mim takes the screen. Apologises. Swipes her finger in a squiggle across the flashing rectangle.

‘Thank you,’ Essie says, taking the screen back and muttering, ‘Wasn’t that hard, was it?’

‘Careful,’ Mim says, trying to keep her tone light. ‘Tell Sammy bath time, can you?’

Since when did eleven-year-olds have so much attitude? Ben will laugh when she tells him.

Mim puts one hand on her sternum, thinks she will vomit.

Keep it together.

She washes each knife. Pulls out a clean tea towel and dries each blade, sliding them one by one into the wooden knife block in the corner.

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