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Sienna blinked, caught completely off guard. She had never heard Robin say anything so openly sad.

Before Sienna could find a gentle way to respond, Robin cleared her throat, shaking off the moment. She went over to the hearth and dropped onto her knees on the rug, pulling open the iron door of the wood-burning stove to begin aggressively shoving crumpled newspaper and logs into the grate. Sienna watched her trying to light it for several minutes, Robin throwing apologetic glances over her shoulder. ‘Good to know I lack the skills of a cave dweller.’

‘I can handle the food while you work on it, if that helps,’ Sienna offered.

Robin gave her a grateful look, a smudge of soot already dusting her cheek. ‘Really? Thank you. The draught is doing something weird.’

Sienna rolled up the sleeves of her sweater and checked the cupboards. She found pans and plates and cutlery and gave them a quick wash. Then she boiled a kettle and began browning the vegetarian mince, averting her gaze from the struggle taking place at the alleged fireplace.

After ten minutes of stubborn muttering from Robin, there came a relieved, ‘Thank god.’ And Sienna turned to see a warm amber light finally emerging from the hearth.

Robin stood up, dusting her soot-stained hands together with a triumphant exhale. ‘Crushed it.’

Sienna finished plating up and brought the food over to the worn oak table near the window, where the rain was now beating a heavy rhythm against the glass. Robin washed her hands, along with a couple of wine glasses. She grabbed the bottle and the clean glasses and added them to the table.

Then Robin went into her bag for the mics, dropping them next to the placemats. ‘So... Should we clip in before we eat?’ she asked as she pulled out a chair and sat.

Sienna sat down across from her, abruptly nervous. It didn’t take long to figure out the problem. Without the studio, without Pip in the control room, the sheer intimacy of the small cottage was pressing in on her. Because Robin was going to give her what she’d asked for.

And Sienna wasn’t ready for it.

Sienna realised she was her own worst enemy. She’d put herself in this spot, just to be right.

She reached out and gently slid the recording equipment an inch further down the table.

‘No rush,’ Sienna said. ‘Let’s eat first.’

Robin paused, looking at Sienna across the steam rising from their plates.

‘Yeah,’ Robin murmured. ‘No rush.’

Twenty-Four

They finished off the last of the food and left the plates in the sink, moving over to the rug by the fireplace as the remaining grey light outside completely bled away into night.

Robin had poured a second glass of red wine for them both, and they sat cross-legged on floor cushions on opposite sides of the low oak coffee table in front of the crackling hearth.

Their wireless lapel packs were already clipped to their collar, waiting. They couldn’t put it off any longer.

‘Sixty minutes,’ Robin said, her voice sounding a little too loud and loose in the peace of the cabin. ‘Let’s do it.’

Sienna flipped the switch on her mic pack. A tiny green LED glowed to life. Robin did the same. She checked her watch. 8.33. At 9.33, this would be over.

Robin’s hand slipped into her back pocket, her fingers brushing against the folded piece of paper. Her list. The personal questions she’d assembled. Fears, childhood trauma, really brutal stuff. She pulled the paper halfway out, looking across at Sienna, who was cradling her glass of wine with both hands, watching the fire. Her shoulders were tight.

And looking at her sitting there, clearly nervous, Robin knew she didn’t want to punish her like that. She pushed the paper back down into her pocket.

‘You know,’ Robin murmured, leaning back against the frame of the sofa and pulling her knees up to her chest, ‘I realised today that I don’t actually know how you ended up doing this.’

Sienna’s dark eyes flicked up. ‘Doing what? Podcasting?’

‘Yeah,’ Robin said, taking a sip of wine. ‘I mean, you’ve got the mind of a corporate type. How does someone like you end up sitting in a booth giving romantic advice for a living?’

Sienna swirled the dark red liquid in her glass. ‘You’ve got me pegged. I used to be a senior risk analyst at a corporate consultancy firm,’ she said after a long moment. ‘I was very good at it.’

‘Risk analysis,’ Robin repeated. ‘That makes insane sense. What happened? Did you just wake up one day and decide risk was boring?’

‘No,’ Sienna said, her voice dropping into a quieter, lower register. ‘I was fired, actually.’