CATE CAMPBELL ON PRESSING PAUSE

It’s March 23, 2020, 12.39pm and I’m at the supermarket check-out feeling on edge. It’s been a weird day; rumours have been dancing across my brain like dust devils, leaving a haze of uncertainty in their wake. My phone buzzes and I frantically check it.

I’m not sure how long I stare at the screen – three seconds, three minutes, three hours? Time has lost all meaning, but dimly I become aware of the check-out lady. “I’m sorry,” I mumble, “what was that?” “I said,” she replies, loudly and slowly, “is that all?” The twinkle in her eye hardens to a glint. How could she