Sitting down, DG crossed her legs and leaned back, resting her elbows on the wooden surface of the bench. She looked a lot calmer than she felt and, knowing that, she managed to treat the conversation with a sort of detached normality.

“I was singing about us, Glitch,” she said, which was a sentence she had never expected to form. “I was singing about the way our … our whatever it is seems to stop at the doors of the Northern Island.”