SIDNEY AND Dee shared a slice of revolving door, and Dave followed. It was hot out, but an eerie amber light shrouded Collins Street. Rubbish danced along the gutters; trams churned up dust.

‘My Spidey senses detect a storm in the air,’ Dave said.

Sidney and Dee rolled their eyes at him. A gust of wind lifted Sidney’s dress like Marilyn Monroe’s. They laughed and walked faster. They stopped smiling when some flowers and a pink teddy bear from the memorial were blown along the street into the path of traffic.

The pub was dimly lit with shaded lamps and tea-light candles in jars. Sidney and Dee rubbed dirt from their eyes and chose a chesterfield sofa near the big front window, while Dave went up to the bar, smoothing his thinning cockatoo’s crest of hair.

A group of middle-aged men, in dark trousers and business shirts with sleeves rolled up, were drinking in the corner. They were all a little overweight, solid at least. Sidney gazed at their red arms and little bald spots on the backs of their heads.

Is that what you would look like now, Dean Cola? I picture you more in blue jeans and a T-shirt. You come to me at odd times throughout my days. In the supermarket, the tinned fruit and dairy products from back home remind me of you. Mr D’s Cola was in there the other day — I thought they’d stopped making that. Music summons you too — not just the oldies, but Aubrey’s Taylor Swift, and other new songs I hear in taxis. I see your colours in the waft of aromatherapy at the chemist. If I think about you hard enough while Christos is fucking me, I feel a shameful ripple of desire. I transpose your face and mine onto the happy couple in the TV ad for the Spirit of Tasmania ferry.

Dave carried over three glasses and a bottle of sparkling wine.

Sidney shook her head. ‘I said “mineral water”.’

Dave sat down and poured the bubbles.

‘Just half a glass for me,’ Dee said. ‘I have to drive.’

Sidney thought about texting Christos, let him know she’d be home a little late. In a minute. ‘So, what really happened to Lester?’

‘He requested a pay rise. Not much, just the Society of Editors’ recommended rate. And not only for him, for all of us.’ Dee sipped her bubbles. ‘In a nutshell, the powers that be said “No”, so he walked.’

‘And Her Majesty?’

‘Started two weeks after Lester left. And a few days later, Myffy,’ Dee narrowed her eyes, ‘Ros’s friend, started.’

‘Looks like they’ve been keeping the whiches in their place,’ Sidney said.

Dee frowned and Dave tilted his head.

‘Within parentheses.’

Dee and Dave laughed.

‘You’re a funny girl, Sidney Loukas,’ Dee said. ‘We missed you.’

Funny was not an adjective typically attributed to Sidney Loukas, not in a comical sense anyway.

‘Dave’s thinking of leaving too,’ Dee said.

Dave nodded and swallowed a big mouthful of bubbles.

‘He’s got Brian, though. Unfortunately, all I’ve got is —’ Ring, Ring … Abba’s song — Dee’s ringtone. ‘Yes … OK … On my way.’ She hung up and apologised — she’d been summoned to collect her granddaughter from after-school care. She kissed Dave’s cheek and blew a kiss to Sidney as she left.

Tall buildings blocked out the sky, but lightning illuminated the street.

‘I thought about you when Brian and I were in Tasmania last month,’ Dave said.

Sidney’s heart skip-thumped.

‘There was a stall selling bonsai at the Salamanca Market.’

A crack of thunder made her jump. The wine ran to the rim of her tilted glass, splashed up, but she miraculously caught it before it spilled. She and Dave laughed.

‘Apparently, that moss is quite dangerous,’ Dave said.

‘Sphagnum? Only if you get the fungal spores in your skin or inhale them.’

When Dave went to the bathroom, Sidney lifted her hands and arms a little, testing them: the right weight. She looked around: wooden floor, tables, and wall panels, all Christos-coloured. Shelves filled with leather-bound books, gilt-framed paintings of fox hunts — reds, greens, and golds, all within their outlines. All normal.

She poured some of her wine into Dave’s glass, and checked her phone. A text from Christos. She should reply. Soon.

Punters blustered in, rubbing their hands together, enlivened by the weather, chatty with strangers. A man with cold-blue eyes, like a husky-dog, smiled at her. He reminded her of somebody, and she returned his smile before realising he looked like Gareth Maher from back home. She shuddered and looked away, out the window.

The first fat raindrops hit the glass like cat paw prints, and then zigzagged down through the dust.

The street went dark as winter. The raindrops turned into a ferocious downpour. Elegant Melburnians became monsters scurrying in all directions, their hair and suits messed up, umbrellas blown inside out. A sandwich board cartwheeled past.

Sidney turned from the window when Dave came back frowning, phone in hand, saying he had to leave too. Brian had locked himself out of their house and couldn’t find the spare key. He sculled his wine.

‘Be careful,’ she said as he rushed off — it was dangerous out there. Something Christos would have said. She sipped her wine.

Sirens screamed outside. Giant hailstones battered the awning. Sidney squealed like a child and jumped up to look at them smashing down on the cars parked along the street. She pressed her face to the window, watching the hail pile up like snow. She traced a finger through the condensation her breath created on the glass, hoping Dee and Dave were OK out there. And Aubrey and Sophia — she hoped they were safe inside their houses.

She sat back down on the sofa, watching water gush over the gutters, and took out her phone. Six text messages, and three missed calls from Christos that she hadn’t heard over the storm; a text from Aubrey (were r u?); and a voice message from Sophia. She replied to Aubrey’s text first. And listened to Sophia’s message: Hello, my darling. Sid? Sid? You there, Sid? Sophia here. Lemons in the kitchen for you, my darling. I come over tomorrow. Some crackling and breathing before she hung up.

And then she called Christos.

‘Why aren’t you answering your phone! Are you all right? This storm!’

‘We had a drink after work, but I’m leaving now.’

‘Who are you with?’

‘Nobody.’

‘I thought you said …’

‘Dee and Dave.’

‘Who’s Dave?’

‘You know Dave from work.’

‘You’re not supposed to be drinking with your meds.’

Oh, but they’re such good company. ‘Just one glass of wine.’

‘I’ll come and get you.’

‘Aren’t you working?’

‘Where are you?’

‘I’m fine. I’ll get the train.’ The street was flooding.

‘It’s all right, I’ll pick you up.’

She sighed and told him which pub.

A Coca-Cola can floated past. She finished her wine, and poured more into her glass.

There was a man in blue jeans and white T-shirt — out of place in suit-land — with his back to her at the bar. Dark hair, tall, substantial. She tried again to remember Dean Cola’s New Year’s kiss. And a time before she was afraid to be touched — when two bodies together formed more than just the sum of their cold, wormy parts. How it felt to want, to ache. When a day was agony, and a week was eternity. To melt, warm and smooth, like caramel, into strong arms where it was safe to be weak for a while. Turn around, man at the bar. Please, please look like Dean Cola. Turn around. Turn around.

The fire truck pulled up quickly in the loading zone across the street. Air brakes hissed. Christos, in yellow overpants, blue T-shirt, and red suspenders, stepped down backwards from the driver’s side, and barrelled through the water and hail. He looked so important; the thought of him slipping over made her smirk.

The bar hushed as the big firefighter entered, chewing gum. He scanned the room until he clocked Sidney by the window. He strode across, blocking her view of the man at the bar, who was turning around.

Christos frowned at the wine and candle on the table, and held out his hand for Sidney.

There were two other fireys — Nick and Darren — in the rear cabin compartment. Christos told Darren to get out and drive so he could sit in the back with Sidney. Sidney climbed into the centre seat, where Christos said she wouldn’t be seen from the street, behind a mix of small equipment: torches, radio handsets, helmets, and a pile of protective clothing. It smelled of smoke and dust. Nick, who had been October in last year’s MFB calendar, turned from the window and winked. Sidney looked away, remembering Christos’s annoyance after Nick had shown her at the annual Firefighters’ Ball how he could make his mermaid tattoo swim across his pecs.

There was constant radio traffic as they drove out of the city. Christos talked about fires, accidents, disrupted public transport, motorists trapped in flood waters, and other dangerous things the storm had caused. Dangerous things in general. Darren coughed a lot — Christos said he had ‘Greenworld cough’ too, from the fire at the garden centre a few months back. Half his crew had it.

The hail had turned to dirty grey sludge. A distant streak of lightning broke the sky. Christos squeezed her leg. Nick cleared his throat. She shivered.

‘Cold?’ Christos said. ‘Turn on the heater, Darren.’

Darren double-parked in front of Sidney and Christos’s townhouse; Christos ordered him and Nick to wait in the truck.

As he ushered Sidney inside, Christos began to cough.

Bent over, he grasped the kitchen bench, knocking Sophia’s lemons and sending them rolling on the floor.

‘Are you OK?’ Sidney asked.

He pointed at the sink.

Stepping over lemons, she walked across to get him a glass of water.