Brent took a gulp of his beer. "According to Sacha, Hanna's taking care of it all."

"How do you mean, 'taking care of it'?" Alain asked.

"Well you know, probably making sure she's okay. Making her soup or something" Mal answered. Brent had called them both to a pub near his house, an informal gathering of concerned friends. He hadn't been able to think what else he could do.

"Soup?" Alain echoed Mal mockingly. "It's depression, dude. It's not the 'flu."

"I was just saying" said Mal defensively. "Anyway, it was a stupid question."

"It wasn't a stupid question! How the fuck was it a stupid question?"

"Whoa!" Brent put his beer down and held up his hands to silence them both. "Listen guys, it's fucked up I know, but let's not tear into each other here."

The three of them sat stony silent for a few moments. After a while Mal said:

"What if it is 'flu? I mean, last time I had it I felt pretty shit . . ."

Alain rolled his eyes, but stayed silent. Brent shook his head, and said: "Yeah, I thought that maybe. Sacha too. But she says it's definitely depression. I mean Rona basically admitted it to Hannah. From what I hear."

"So, what is Hannah doing, anyway?" Mal asked, curious now.

"I already asked that" Alain pointed out.

Mal and Brent ignored him. "I dunno" Brent said. "Just going 'round there, sitting and talking with her. Doing her shopping. That kind of thing, I think. I mean they're best friends, after all. And Sacha said Hannah was the first one to notice anything was wrong, too."

"So what do we do?"

"I dunno, just be there I guess. I've tried calling her a couple of times but I haven't got through to her. Rona I mean. Other than that . . . Send her good thoughts, I guess. What else is there we can do?"