‘Really?’

‘Cats.’

‘What about them?’

‘They’ve got a parasite. Toxoplas-something.’

Nora knew this. She had known this since she was a teen, doing her work experience at Bedford Animal Rescue Centre. ‘Toxoplasmosis.’

‘That’s it! Well, I was listening to this podcast, right . . . and there’s this theory that this international group of billionaires infected the cats with it so that they could take over the world by making humans dumber and dumber. I mean, think about it. There are cats everywhere. I was talking to Jared about this and Jared said, “Jojo, what are you smoking?” And I was like, “The stuff you gave me” and he said, “Yeah, I know.” Then he told me about the grasshoppers.’

‘Grasshoppers?’

‘Yeah. Did you hear about grasshoppers?’ Jojo asked.

‘What about them?’

‘They are all killing themselves. Because this parasitic worm grows inside them, to become like a full-grown aquatic creature, and as it grows it takes over the brain function of the grasshopper, so the grasshopper thinks, “Hey, I really like water” and so they divebomb into water and die. And it’s happening all the time. Google it. Google “grasshopper suicide”. Anyway, the point is, the elites are killing us via cats and so you shouldn’t be near them.’

Nora couldn’t help thinking how different this life was to her imagined version of it. She had pictured herself and Izzy on a boat near Byron Bay, marvelling at the magnificence of humpback whales, and yet she was here in a small pot-scented apartment in Sydney, with a conspiracy theorist as a flatmate who wouldn’t even let her near a cat.

‘What happened to Izzy?’

Nora realised she had just asked the question out loud.

Jojo looked confused. ‘Izzy? Your old friend Izzy?’

‘Yeah.’

‘The one who died?’

The words came so fast Nora could hardly absorb them.

‘Um, what?’

‘The car crash girl?’

‘What?’

Jojo looked confused, as curls of smoke wisped across her face. ‘You okay, Nora?’ She held out the joint. ‘Wanna toke?’

‘No, I’m okay thanks.’

Jojo chuckled. ‘Makes a change.’

Nora grabbed her phone. Went online. Typed ‘Isabel Hirsh’ into the search box. Then clicked ‘News’.

There it was. A headline. Above a picture of Izzy’s tanned face, smiling.

BRITISH WOMAN KILLED IN NSW ROAD COLLISION

A woman, 33, was killed and three people hospitalised south of Coffs Harbour last night when the woman’s Toyota Corolla collided with a car travelling in the opposite direction on the Pacific Highway.

The female driver, identified as British citizen Isabel Hirsh, died at the scene of the accident just before 9pm. She was the only person in the Toyota.

According to her flatmate, Nora Seed, Isabel had been driving from Sydney back to Byron Bay, to attend Nora’s birthday party. Isabel had recently started working for Byron Bay Whale Watching Tours.

‘I am totally devastated,’ Nora said. ‘We travelled to Australia together only a month ago and Izzy had planned to stay here for as long as possible. She was such a force of life that it feels impossible to imagine the world without her in it. She was so excited about her new job. It is so unbearably sad and hard to comprehend.’

The passengers of the other car all suffered injuries, and the driver – Chris Dale – had to be airlifted to the hospital at Baringa.

New South Wales Police are asking anyone who witnessed the collision to come forward to help with their enquiries.

‘Oh my God,’ she whispered to herself, feeling faint. ‘Oh, Izzy.’

She knew that Izzy wasn’t dead in all her lives. Or even most of them. But in this one it was real, and the grief Nora felt felt real too. The grief was familiar and terrifying and laced with guilt.

Before she could properly process anything, the mobile rang. It said ‘Work’.

A man’s voice. A slow drawl. ‘Where are you?’

‘What?’

‘You were meant to be here half an hour ago.’

‘Where?’

‘The ferry terminal. You’re selling tickets. I’ve got the correct number, right? This is Nora Seed I’m talking to?’

‘It’s one of them,’ sighed Nora, as she gently faded away.

Fish Tank

The shrewd-eyed librarian was back at her chessboard and hardly looked up as Nora arrived back.

‘Well, that was terrible.’

Mrs Elm smiled, wryly. ‘It just shows you, doesn’t it?’

‘Shows me what?’

‘Well, that you can choose choices but not outcomes. But I stand by what I said. It was a good choice. It just wasn’t a desired outcome.’

Nora studied Mrs Elm’s face. Was she enjoying this?

‘Why did I stay?’ Nora asked. ‘Why didn’t I just come home, after she died?’

Mrs Elm shrugged. ‘You got stuck. You were grieving. You were depressed. You know what depression is like.’

Nora understood this. She thought of a study she had read about somewhere, about fish. Fish were more like humans than most people think.