THE BREAKFAST-RADIO host said, ‘“Do dogs eat carrots?” This is a text message here from Rod in Preston. “I don’t care what the carrot producers say, I won’t eat any vegetable starting with C.”’

‘Good morning, beautiful.’ Christos was at the kitchen bench, nudging the filter into the coffee machine. He pressed the button.

Sidney’s nausea returned as she sat at the table. She grasped the sides of her chair — a raft in a storm — steadying herself as the room rose and fell, and Christos frothed the milk. Hiss, whistle, gurgle.

The radio host said, ‘And what would John Lennon have said about that? But that’s not what we’re talking about. Today we are discussing the health benefits of carrots. Hello, Mick from Sandringham.’

‘Remember Susan Dey from The Partridge Family?’ said Mick.

‘Vaguely, Mick.’

‘She turned orange because she drank too much carrot juice.’

Christos poured skim milk into bowls of muesli and yoghurt with fresh strawberries.

A stride and a half and he was placing breakfast and coffee on the table, and kissing the top of her head. ‘You don’t look well,’ he said as he sat down and spooned muesli into his mouth. A dribble of milk caught in his stubble, which grew faster than he could shave it.

‘Still a bit queasy.’ She looked into her bowl, stomach clenching. Strawberry juice smeared the yoghurt.

Christos washed down his mouthful with a sip of coffee. ‘Couldn’t be morning sickness, could it?’

She frowned up at him. The grin on his face made his cheeks apples and his eyes closer together. The Cheshire Cat. We’re all mad here. I’m mad. You’re mad.

‘Should go to the doctor,’ he said.

‘I told you — it’s just a bug.’ She played with her food.

‘Must have caught it at the office.’

The news fanfare theme played on the radio, and the presenter reported that two more victims of the Collins Street tragedy had died.

‘Speaking of the doctor. I went and had some tests. Blood pressure’s up a bit.’

‘How much?’

‘Not much. Nothing to worry about.’

‘And everything else is OK?’

‘Said I should stop smoking.’

‘Maybe you should.’ She spooned a sultana to the side of her bowl.

‘Occasional rollie after dinner’s not going to kill me.’ He shovelled more food into his mouth. ‘I mentioned we were trying again, and the doc said he’d like to see us together —’

‘Shh. I’m trying to listen to the news.’ She pushed her bowl aside, worrying it would slide off the table as the room tilted again.

‘You know I’ll take care of you, and everything. I always have,’ Christos said. ‘I love you, Sidney.’

Holding her bowl tightly, she stood up and waded through kitchen-tile waves to the sink.

The presenter wound up the 7.00 am news with the current temperature: twenty-eight degrees.

Aground, leaning safely against the dishwasher, Sidney glanced back at Christos. He sighed over his muesli like a disappointed parent.