‘I don’t really . . .’ I stop, embarrassed, but then the silence is so expectant and awkward I have to finish. ‘I don’t really know what I’m doing.’ There’s a pause as Connie slows for traffic. She glances at her rear-view mirror again and smiles at me. ‘What did you say your name was? Steffi?’ I nod. ‘No one does, Steffi. No one knows what they’re doing.’