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“Got to go,” says Eve.

“Wait, where have you got to go?” Dom sits on the end of their bed, taking off his shoes. He looks exhausted. He started his day at five this morning.

“The restaurant,” Eve reminds him. “It’s Thursday, remember? I’ll bring home leftovers.”

It’s a pizza and pasta restaurant and the boss encourages staff to take home leftover pasta at the end of the shift, which is excellent. Free dinner for tonight and tomorrow.

“Is it Thursday?” says Dom. “I thought it was…oh, I don’t really know what day I thought it was.”

She kisses his forehead. “All of this, the money, everything, it’s going to get better.”

“Is it?” he says, yawning. He is asleep before she even leaves the apartment. She thinks he only lets himself fall asleep properly now when he’s alone. It’s so, so stupid.

On the bus she checks the online chatter about the Death Lady.

Someone has posted: Could she be an insurance actuary? My daughter was on that flight and the language she used made me wonder that.

Yesterday, Paula sent Eve a message saying: The Death Lady’s first name might be Cherry.

So Eve googles, without much hope: Cherry Actuary.

And there she is. As easy as that. All this time she was only a Google search away.

She’s younger in the picture but there is no doubt: it’s the lady from the plane. She wears a silk blouse and pencil skirt, pearl earrings and red lipstick, and she stands at a podium gesticulating at a PowerPoint slide behind her. The caption says: Cherry Lockwood delivers another riveting keynote address at the Actuaries Institute December Luncheon! It was taken five years ago. She looks so happy. Not like a Death Lady at all.