In minutes they were kissing. Sometimes they got their wires all – it was stupid. Why was it so hard for them to hear each other? Sometimes it felt like they’d never met before.

‘Do you sometimes feel like you’ve never met me before?’ she asked him, breaking the kiss. He tried not to let her. ‘Do you ever feel like we don’t know each other and we’re strangers?’

‘No,’ Hal said, so simple. ‘Do you?’

‘I don’t know,’ Danna said. ‘I think it’s the driving.’

‘I made one fucking mistake. Because you weren’t navigating. Because you fell asleep. And I’d never begrudge you sleep. But I asked you to navigate.’

Danna knew Hal was right. Only babies could get away with falling asleep anywhere. ‘Two mistakes, right next to each other. Two bad mistakes.’

‘Nothing bad happened.’

But she felt like something bad had happened, even though it was, to be fair, objectively true that nothing had. In moments like this one Danna felt like something was growing out of her brain. Like she’d never know a moment of surety, or quiet. The might’ves were always branching, branching, carrying ugly blooms: the fear of missing something obvious, the fear of everyone but Danna knowing some great truth about what her life really was.