Extreme Project Management had something to say about rapid change – what was it? When chaos and uncertainty reign, a good project manager does not call in sick. Something like that … I may need to revise my life plan to take Adrian’s temporary absence into account, but the extreme project manager isn’t fazed by change, they just re-schedule. Once I’ve mastered XPM, Adrian will return. He won’t be able to resist my sexy project planning.

      Adrian is probably rock-climbing right now. Or possibly visiting Cougar in hospital. Somehow I can’t summon the expected emotions. Anger, Hurt and Betrayal must be snoozing in the sun. They’re not the angry lionesses they should be. Here I am, betrayed on the eve of my engagement and yet … Instead of three lionesses, I seem to be saddled with three old tabby cats called Irritation, Annoyance and Pique. No doubt I’m in shock.

      As I nibble on my chocolate muffin I recall that my project plan stipulated home-made muesli for breakfast. Too late. My phone rings and I check the number. Mum. I can’t resist thinking of her like that – it’s my little rebellion. I’m never allowed to call her ‘Mum’, only Euphoria. Euphoria’s not the name she was born with, but on the commune changing your name is de rigueur. Our neighbours are Serenity and Rock.

      While my full name is Summer Dawn Rain Wright, Summer is more than enough for me. Marley got off easily; he was named after Bob Marley, hero of hippies the world over. His middle name is Lennon, for obvious reasons.

      Mum almost never rings me on my mobile – she’s worried about radiation – so this must be urgent.

      ‘Hi, Euphoria,’ I say.

      ‘Summer, I’m worried about you.’ Mum speaks quickly; she wants to get off the phone as soon as possible. I picture her standing in the mud-walled lounge room, holding the phone away from her ear to lessen radiation. While it is me, if anyone, who is being irradiated, Mum believes it works both ways. ‘I had a dream about you. You were buried in snow. You’re not going anywhere snowy, are you?’

      ‘Um.’ The Antarctic trip flashes through my mind, but of course I’m not going. And if I was, it would be top secret. ‘No. I had my apartment painted white. That’s probably it.’

      ‘Oh, get out of here. Not you, Summer, it’s those bats, they’re running rampant. There’s always one flapping around. Yes, that’s probably it. I’d paint it blue if I were you – much more calming. Well, don’t go anywhere snowy, will you? Not until after the summer solstice.’

      ‘Why?’ I was born on the summer solstice, hence my name.

      ‘Really, Summer, you should know – after your birthday is a much safer time for you.’

      ‘Okay, Mum, that’s fine, I’m not going anywhere.’

      Mum’s frozen silence reminds me I’ve called her ‘Mum’.

      ‘Euphoria, I mean.’

      ‘You should come home for the New Year’s Eve ritual. That was always one of your favourites. Marley preferred Halloween and …’ Euphoria stops. ‘Those bats, I’ve never seen so many of them.’

      ‘Mm,’ I murmur in a non-committal way. I have no intention of going home to make corn dollies and harvest altars or to beat drums with Mum and her friends. It might have been fun once, but I’ve moved on.

      ‘I’d better go before we get too much radiation. Don’t talk on your mobile phone again today, will you?’

      ‘I won’t.’

      Mum hangs up.

      I finish my muffin thoughtfully. Summer solstice used to take the place of Christmas on the commune. It was a huge celebration with friends and family. I never missed not celebrating Christmas and we got our presents early so there was no cause for complaint. Although I’ve put that hippie pagan stuff behind me, I used to love celebrating the power of the Sun Lord – the moment he reached his zenith.

      As I pay my bill and step out of the air-conditioned cafe into the heat of the morning, it feels like the Sun Lord is doing way too much celebrating for his own good.