She sighs and rocks Greta gently, biting her lip to keep from tears herself; she doesn't cry easily, but she's drunk and it's been a rough time, and she can't bear to see Greta in pain like this. When Greta finally settles a little and starts speaking again, Iman lets her hand stray to Greta's head, stroking her hair a little.

"You can say that all you want," she says, "and you can believe it, too, but that doesn't make it easier. It's okay to hurt over this."

She feels like she's feeding back advice that has been fed to her. Well, maybe Greta will be more receptive than she is.

There's no solution she can offer - she can't say she'll get her back, even if she still could do that it would be a false hope, crueler to force optimism than to allow her to accept this wound as part of her reality.

A really repulsive part of her, buried somewhere deep down, is almost relieved.

Disgusting. She represses a shudder and forces herself up. "Come on," she says. "Let's have a lie down. I'm gonna play you some nice music."