This is a short and edgy exploration of anxiety and the aftermath of trauma articulated via silences and the unsaid. The imagery of roads and tunnels (underground roads) is pervasive and mark the inner journeys of Anya that parallel the literal ones she takes: to France on holiday, to Cornwall to her boyfriend's parents, to Sarajevo to see her own parents and which recalls memories she has been trying to repress.

At times, the writing gets a bit uncontrolled: too many 'heartbeats hammer away in mutual dread' throughout and some of the figurative writing could productively be pared back: the 'apostrophe' of balsamic poured into oil, the overwrought image of flies 'languid... like the aftermath of a wild party'.

Overall, though, this is powerful and concentrated, the jittery prose leaving the reader unsettled and on edge, knowing that horrific things that have happened in the past are going to re-emerge and that sometimes taking control is uncannily like losing it.