Opening my laptop, I check today’s objective – Become Cougar Gale. Ha.

      I can’t believe a table full of seemingly rational adults has agreed that no-one will notice if I turn up on TV in Cougar’s place. But I suppose it does happen in long-running soap operas when one of the actors leaves. The viewer knows that Charlene’s a little different today but after half an hour you forget there was ever another Charlene.

      Pulling on a T-shirt and shorts, I stagger out the door. It’s ridiculous to expect I’m going to transform my body into Cougar’s in one day; however, I must make some effort. I will pound the streets of Chatswood for an hour.

      I pound the streets of Chatswood for ten minutes before relapsing into a brisk walk, which soon becomes a stroll. It’s too hot for running. The sun, even filtered through a thin layer of smoke, is bitingly hot. It’s lucky I thought to stuff a twenty-dollar note inside the groovy armband that holds my phone. This armband was a present from Adrian. ‘You can listen to music and take calls while you run,’ he said. ‘And once you upgrade to a voice recognition phone, you’ll be able to send texts too.’ This sounded feasible, but if I was to send a text now it would be nothing but gasps and pants and I’d get booked for harassment.

      By six-thirty, I’m ensconced in a coffee shop with a double-shot latte and a muffin on order. I would have been there earlier, but the cafe only opens at six-thirty.

      My ten-minute run has illustrated how unsuited I am for this job. It’s ridiculous. I can’t go to Antarctica. I can’t impersonate Cougar. I’ll make a fool of myself if I’m not eaten by huskies first. Something weird happened in that meeting room yesterday but I’m sure they’ll have come to their senses by now.

      At nine o’clock I will go and see Maxine. I’ll be firm and assertive while avoiding can’t. Surely she will see reason. We can reschedule Cougar on Ice.

      On the TV in the corner a talking head presents The Morning Show. A graphic pops up on the screen showing little bushfire symbols across the state. I would leave, but I have food coming. Instead, I try to ignore the interview with a man in orange overalls. A few words penetrate – long, hot summer … high fire danger … total fire ban …working to control …

      ‘Here’s your coffee.’

      I turn back to the table, just in time to see him. It’s only a glimpse, but it is him. Marley is pulling out a hose, running towards a burning tree. File footage, says a note at the bottom of the screen.

      ‘Are you okay?’ The waitress places a glass of water in front of me.

      ‘Yes, thanks.’ I drum my fingers on the table and breathe slowly to steady myself. The image on the screen changes to a parched paddock; no prospect of rain, says the announcer.

      Things got a bit sad between Marley and me before I left to go overseas. We’d never been apart for so long – I think we were both trying to avoid thinking about it.

      I tap on my phone and start an email.

      To: Marley Lennon Wright

      From: Summer Dawn Rain Wright

      Subject: Remember? (part two)

      I was reading on the couch when you sat beside me, bouncing up and down the way you always did.

      I looked up from my book. ‘Hiya.’

      ‘Hey.’

      You were so tall and broad-shouldered, Marley. You were the kind of guy I’d want to see coming to help if I was stuck in a house with a bushfire advancing. And, if you weren’t my brother, I’d say you were kind of cute.

      ‘What’re you reading?’ you said.

      I held up my book. It was a guide to scriptwriting.

      ‘Still into that stuff, huh?’

      ‘Yeah, you still into that firefighting stuff?’

      We always paid each other out, didn’t we?

      ‘I’m going to miss you, Summer Dawn.’

      ‘I’ll miss you too, you old silly.’ I punched you on the shoulder. ‘We’ll email, right?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘You could come,’ I murmured.

      ‘Yeah. But I’ve got stuff to do here.’

      I knew that – you’d only just got a professional firefighting job after being a volunteer for almost ten years. You were hardly going to leave.

      ‘Hey, you’re going to have a great time. Make sure you send lots