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Gemma had been listening with increasing bewilderment. ‘So what's the problem?'

‘There isn't a problem.'

‘That's what I mean. You two obviously got along.'

‘Yeah, we did . . . What are you getting at?'

‘Why did you say you'd have to think about it when he offered you the job?'

‘Oh, well, I guess I felt a little overwhelmed, and when I didn't answer him straightaway, he said I should take the weekend to sleep on it.'

They had arrived at the lift, and Gemma pressed the button. The doors opened immediately. ‘So what do you think you're going to say?' she asked, helping Helen into the lift.

They turned to face the doors as they closed. ‘I'll let you know after I've slept on it,' she answered blithely.

‘Well, it sounds like you two certainly got off on the right foot,' Phoebe declared, holding her glass up.

Helen had just taken a gulp of champagne and she must have laughed at precisely the wrong moment, and suddenly she was gasping for breath and Gemma was hitting her on the back and Phoebe was squealing, mostly with laughter, and finally Helen's airwaves were clear and she was able to breathe again. They both stopped to look at her.

‘Are you all right?'

Helen nodded slowly, as her shoulders began to shake, and she burst into a fit of uncontrollable laughter. Phoebe soon joined her
and they rolled around on the floor giggling like a pair of school-girls at a slumber party. Helen had still not got around to replacing the lounge suite, so Gemma had set up the back room when they got home, spreading a doona on the floor and propping Helen up with every pillow and cushion she could find in the house.

Gemma had spent the afternoon playing nurse, mother, cook, and whatever else was required. She hadn't stopped. No sooner had she got Helen settled, made her a cup of tea and something to eat, than she was out the door to pick up Noah. Then it was off to the supermarket with a list Helen had dictated to her before she left. When she got home again she put dinner on for Noah while she packed the groceries away, refreshed Helen's ice pack, put Noah in the bath, made Helen another cup of tea, got Noah out of the bath, dressed him in his pyjamas, and she was just serving up his dinner when Phoebe arrived. It was Friday, after all, but she was also desperate to find out how Helen had got on, and she had bought champagne to celebrate or commiserate, either way. She and Helen had sat out in the back room, quaffing champagne, while Gemma had put Noah to bed. When he was all tucked in, Gemma had finally joined them, exhausted to say the least.

‘So, did you know about your MD being the other kind of MD in a past life?' Phoebe asked her.

‘No way,' said Gemma. ‘He's never so much as mentioned it before. I think he was pulling your leg, Helen.'

‘Actually, he really was pulling my leg at the time,' said Helen, which sent her and Phoebe off into paroxysms of laughter all over again.

‘Would you two please settle down?' said Gemma, trying to be stern. ‘Phee, slow down on the champagne, Helen's not used to it.'

Phoebe looked up at her sister, laughing wearily. ‘You are the last person who should be commenting on anybody's combustion of alcohol,' she declared. That set them off again. Gemma groaned. It was going to be a long night. She'd never realised before how inane drunk people could be.

‘Well, I think Myles the mystery medico might just have the hots for our Helen,' Phoebe announced when they had eventually calmed down.

Gemma was shaking her head. ‘He's not the type.'

‘What, is he gay?' Phoebe asked.

‘No,' said Gemma. Then she frowned. ‘I don't think he is. No, I'm sure he's not: the way he dresses he couldn't possibly be gay.'

‘Then why couldn't he be attracted to Helen?' Phoebe persisted. ‘If I was a guy, I'd be attracted to her.'

That caused another ripple of giggling to pass between the two women. Gemma rolled her eyes.

‘I'm not saying he's not interested because he couldn't be attracted to Helen,' said Gemma. ‘I'm saying he's not interested because he's all work, no play – you know the type.'

‘Aah, maybe he just hasn't met the right woman yet.'

Helen blew a raspberry. ‘Stop it. He was only being nice. Can't a guy be nice without having an ulterior motive?'

‘No,' Gemma and Phoebe chorused at once.

Helen looked at them. ‘Well, I'm glad I'm not as cynical as either of you two,' she declared. ‘But I agree with Gemma: he wasn't coming on to me, he was just being kind, that's all there was to it.' She sipped her champagne. ‘And you know what the best part about it was? He didn't know who I was; he doesn't know anything about me. He wasn't being nice to me just because I'm a widow and, you know, because of the way David died.'

Now Gemma wished she could have a drink. Phoebe was watching her suspiciously.

‘He said he liked being incognito for a while,' Helen went on, staring into space. ‘I know exactly how he feels.'

‘Well,' Gemma interrupted, slapping her hands together. ‘I've hung up my apron for the night, so I'm going to order pizza, because you two definitely need something in your stomachs before you drink another drop.'

‘You told him she was a widow, didn't you?' said Phoebe, pulling on an old T-shirt Gemma had given her to wear to bed.

‘Shhh!' Gemma rushed to the bedroom door to make sure it was closed. Phoebe was too drunk to make her own way home. Gemma could have put her in a taxi, but Cameron was away so there was not really any need for her to go home. Besides, she didn't think Phoebe should be on her own anyway. She had
begun to get a little maudlin when Gemma had finally pulled the plug and called it a night.

‘You told him the whole sorry story, didn't you?' Phoebe went on, using her hands to mime a bus hitting a person, with accompanying graphic sound effects.

Gemma winced. ‘Phoebe, keep your voice down!' she whispered loudly, moving away from the door and taking a firm grip of her sister's shoulders as she sat her down on the bed. ‘Yes, okay, I admit. I told him everything. He was wavering, I had to keep him interested –'

‘Don't worry,' Phoebe slurred. She was very drunk. ‘It's a good story, I'd use it in a court of law in a shot.' She tried to click her fingers, but couldn't quite manage it.

‘But don't tell Helen, okay?' said Gemma. ‘He promised he wouldn't, he said he'd wait for her to bring it up herself.'

Phoebe started to nod in agreement. But her eyes were closed and her head kept rolling back too far.

‘Come on,' said Gemma, holding her up. ‘Get in under the covers.'

She helped Phoebe into bed and walked around to the other side, grateful to climb in and lie down. She felt bone-tired. It was the end of a long day at the end of a long week. Phoebe was quiet – hopefully she'd passed out. Gemma reached over to switch off the bedside lamp.

Phoebe stirred, moving over closer to snuggle into her side. ‘Can I feel the baby move?' she asked plaintively.

Gemma sighed. ‘Sure, it's a bit quiet at the moment, though.'

She felt Phoebe's hand slide across her tummy. ‘Wow, you've really popped out.'

‘Mm, I'm always bigger at night, but it has suddenly popped,' she agreed. ‘It's funny, it's like as soon as I let the cat out of the bag and told the MD, the baby came out of hiding. Like it knew or something.'

She heard Phoebe sniff. ‘That's so cute,' she whimpered. ‘That's your own little baby in there that loves you already.'

Now she was crying for real. She broke into sobs. Gemma felt drained, she had never had to tend to the needs of so many people in one day in all her life.

‘Come on, Phee,' she soothed, putting her arm around her and patting her shoulder. ‘You're drunk, go to sleep.' Gemma was beginning to feel sleep creeping up on her, and she was more than ready for it.

‘I want to have a baby so bad,' Phoebe sobbed.

‘I know,' Gemma shushed her, patting her shoulder again.

‘I want it so bad it hurts, Gem.' She took a tremulous breath. ‘My belly hurts, even my boobs hurt . . .' Suddenly she lifted herself up on one elbow and reached across Gemma to switch the lamp back on.

Gemma squinted, blinking rapidly. ‘Phee, what are you doing?'

‘Maybe I'm having a phantom pregnancy!' she gasped, her face close to Gemma's.

‘No,' said Gemma, pushing her away and turning the lamp off again. ‘Just a mental breakdown. Now, go to sleep.'

Phoebe snuggled into her sister again, one hand across her belly, when the baby started to move.

‘Oh, my God,' Phoebe breathed. ‘Did you feel that?'

Gemma decided not to engage in conversation with her. With any luck Phoebe might assume she was asleep.

‘Gem, Gem, your baby's moving!'

She groaned. ‘I know, Phee, don't you think I can feel it?'

‘What's it feel like, Gem?' Phoebe said breathlessly. ‘To have that little soul encased inside your own?'

Jesus. ‘Sometimes it's bloody uncomfortable,' she said, trying to snap Phoebe out of it. ‘Like if it sticks its foot in my ribs, or in my groin, or it leans on my bladder.'

‘That's beautiful,' Phoebe said, dissolving into tears once more.

Gemma sighed heavily, reaching out to turn the lamp on again. ‘Phee, if you want a baby this bad, you have to make Cameron understand how important it is to you. You have to talk about it.'

She began to wail now, loudly.

‘Phee, quiet!' Gemma shushed her.

Phoebe sniffed. ‘I can't talk about it with Cam.'

‘Why not?'

‘He put an embargo on any further discussion: I'm not even allowed to mention it.'

‘Who died and made him supreme ruler of the universe?
Besides, what's he going to do if you bring it up? Ground you?'

The sobs had subsided. ‘He said he'd have a vasectomy,' she said in a quiet voice.

‘What?' Gemma shifted to look at her properly. ‘Are you serious?'

Phoebe nodded gravely. ‘He said if I didn't shut up about it, he'd just go and have a vasectomy and that would be the end of it.'

‘He can't do that.'

‘Yes, he can,' Phoebe said squarely. ‘He said as we're not having a baby for a few years, he doesn't want to talk about it constantly until then. What's the point in putting it off if all you do is talk about it? I suppose I take his point.'

‘No, no,' Gemma insisted. ‘Tell him to take his point and stick it where the sun doesn't shine. This is all about what
he
wants, Phee; he's not taking your feelings into account at all. The reason you can't stop talking about it is because it's so important to you. Doesn't he care about that? Hasn't he ever heard of compromise?'

‘You can't compromise over a baby, Gem,' Phoebe said sleepily. ‘It has to be something we both want, at the same time. I'm just going to have to wait till he's ready. I haven't got a choice.'

She yawned loudly and rolled over. A minute later Gemma heard her breathing settle into a rhythm, punctuated by soft little snores. She'd finally passed out. And now Gemma was wide awake. She decided she hated Cameron with the passion of a thousand fiery suns, or thereabouts. Where did he get off ordering her sister around like that? What gave him the absolute right of veto over her life?

Unfortunately, it appeared Phoebe had given it to him, on a platter, and there wasn't a thing Gemma could do about it. She turned over on her side, pulling the covers around her. The baby shifted as well, adjusting to the new position. Gemma gave her belly a pat.

At least there was one positive she'd gained out of all this. For the first time, single parenthood had never looked so good.

*

Helen opened her eyes, just enough to allow a tiny slit of light in, but still it stung her pupils. Her head felt as though it were being slowly but inexorably compressed in a vice. Why had she drunk so much? She wasn't used to it, she hadn't drunk like that in years. She'd forgotten what a hangover even felt like, or she never would have kept drinking last night. But unfortunately, hangovers were a bit like childbirth: you'd never put yourself through it again if you could remember the pain.

She squinted over at the clock on her bedside table. 10.04. God! She had to get up. She had a momentary sensation of panic as she tried to work out what day it was, if Noah was supposed to be somewhere, if she was supposed to be somewhere. Her heart was pounding in her chest as she gradually realised that it was Saturday, it was all right, no one had to be anywhere.

She rolled onto her back and took a deep breath. Oh God, here it comes.

Helen threw the covers back and leaped out of bed, landing right on her bad foot. She yelped in pain. ‘Bugger! Oh, bugger, bugger, bum, ouch, shit!' she babbled as she sat back on the bed, clutching her ankle. But her stomach was giving her no reprieve. She stood up again gingerly, taking the weight on her good foot. She was not going to manage hopping in her condition, so she hobbled as fast as she could out into the hall and around to the bathroom. She made it in the nick of time, almost falling on her knees in front of the toilet bowl.

Standing at the sink a few minutes later, Helen splashed cold water on her face and rinsed out her mouth. She felt slightly better, but her head was still pounding. She turned off the tap and patted her face dry with a towel. The house seemed awfully quiet. She hoped someone had got up to Noah . . .

Helen felt a pang of anxiety, laced with a heavy dose of guilt as she quickly checked his room, before limping her way to the back of the house.

‘Hi Mummy!' Noah cried as she appeared in the doorway. ‘Did you sleep good?'

Helen winced. ‘Not so loud, sweetheart,' she said softly, holding a finger to her lips. ‘Where's Gemma?'

‘She's hanging a washing on a line, and then we're gunna play Jenga!' He threw his arms in the air and started running around in circles making a whooping sound.

‘Noah, Noah,' she pleaded. ‘Mummy's head's hurting.'

‘I fought it was your foot?'

‘Huh?'

‘You hurted your foot last day, now you hurted your head this day,' he said, holding his arms out for emphasis. ‘Whata hell's going on, Mum?'

Helen smiled despite herself. She didn't have the presence of mind to correct him on his language right now; besides, for all she knew he might have picked it up from her last night. She honestly had no idea.

They heard the back door, and then Gemma appeared in the entrance from the kitchen.

‘Oh, you're up,' she said. ‘How are you this morning?'

‘Don't ask.'

Gemma couldn't help feeling smug. There had to be some payback for a) not being able to drink and b) putting up with people who did.

‘Is Phoebe still in bed?' Helen asked her.

‘Nooo,' said Gemma, shaking her head. ‘My obsessive-compulsive sister was up at six-thirty and out the door. She didn't have her running gear, so she had to get home before she turned into a pumpkin coach. There's something seriously wrong with her. Hey, how's your ankle, by the way?'

‘All right till I jumped out of bed right onto it.'

‘Ouch,' said Gemma. ‘You'd better get it elevated again.'

‘Gemma!' implored Noah from the other side of the room. ‘When are we gunna play Jenga?'

‘Just let me get your mum some breakfast first –'

‘Oh, you don't have to –'

‘Yes, I do,' said Gemma firmly. ‘You set it up, Noah Balboa. I'll be right out.'

They left Noah rolling around with laughter at the ‘Balboa' tag. Small children and drunk people would laugh at anything,
Gemma decided. ‘Sit,' she ordered Helen. ‘I'll get your ice pack.'

Helen did as she was told. She watched as Gemma filled the kettle and turned it on, before retrieving her ice pack from the freezer.

‘I really want to thank you, Gemma,' she said sincerely. ‘I don't know what I would have done without you.'

Gemma glanced at her, smiling. ‘Don't forget, I was the one that sent you there in shoes that didn't fit you.'

‘It's not just that,' said Helen. ‘I know I seemed a bit oblivious yesterday, but I do realise how much you were doing, especially looking after Noah.'

‘Well,' Gemma said, positioning the ice pack carefully on Helen's ankle, ‘I am auditioning for a role.'

Helen frowned. ‘What are you talking about? What role?'

‘Taking over your job while you take over mine,' she reminded her.

‘Oh,' Helen nodded.

‘How am I doing?' she said, straightening up.

‘Great, really, you're doing a great job,' said Helen. ‘To be honest, I had my reservations –'

‘You did?'

‘Not about you,' Helen assured her, though if she was brutally honest, she had had reservations about Gemma being responsible for Noah. But Helen knew she would have reservations about anyone taking care of Noah.

‘I was worried about how I'd feel leaving Noah,' Helen explained. ‘But watching you, I realise you know him, you know his routines, the way I do things. You understand. It's a huge relief.' She smiled. ‘But now that you've had a taste, how do you feel about it?'

Gemma leaned back against the bench. ‘Oh, I was tired yesterday, I'll admit. But it was a good day. I felt useful.' Strangely enough, she really did. And responsible, and needed and trusted. It was a new experience, and not an unpleasant one. ‘Besides, Noah's such a lovely kid, and I'm not just saying that,' she added quickly. ‘I hope I get one just like him.'

The phone started to ring. ‘I'll get it,' said Gemma, dashing from the room. She returned not half a minute later with the
phone, passing it to Helen across the table. ‘It's for you,' she sang, then mouthed emphatically, ‘
It's the MD
.'

Helen frowned. She couldn't understand her. ‘Hello, Helen speaking.'

‘Helen, how are you this morning?'

‘Myles, hi,' she said, recognising the voice.

Gemma frowned. She didn't know how long it was going to take her to get used to ‘Myles'.

‘I just wanted to find out how your ankle's doing,' he was asking Helen.

She glanced across the table. Gemma was waving her arms, mouthing, ‘What's he saying?'

Helen tried to shush her but she was persistent. So she mouthed the word ‘ankle' but Gemma didn't seem to understand her. She sighed. ‘Excuse me for a sec, please, Myles.' She covered the mouthpiece and held it away from herself, under the table.

‘He's just asking after my ankle,' she whispered impatiently.

‘Oh.'

Helen brought the phone back to her ear. ‘Sorry about that,' she said. ‘Anyway, it feels much better this morning, but it's still sore.'

‘Are you resting it?'

He didn't need to know she'd just got out of bed. ‘I've had it up all morning.'

‘That's good. Keep icing it for another twenty-four hours, won't you?'

‘Sure.'

‘Ten minutes on, ten minutes off, ten minutes on again. Then after an hour or so, repeat the procedure over again.'

Helen was smiling. ‘I don't know if you got around to reading my résumé, Myles, but I am a trained nurse.'

‘Oh yes, that's right, then I'll leave you to it.' He paused. ‘But, um, while I have you on the phone, I wanted to ask if you'd given my offer any more thought?'

‘Oh,' said Helen. ‘Well, um, yeah, sure, of course I've been thinking about it.'

Gemma opened her mouth in shock. ‘He's asking you about the job?'

Helen pulled a face at her, dismissing her with a wave of the hand and turning her face away. But Gemma just ran around into her line of sight again.

‘You should
so
ask him for a parking space.'

‘
What?
'

‘I didn't say anything,' said Myles.

Helen sighed. ‘Sorry, Myles, would you mind holding on again? I'll be quick.'

‘That's okay, take your time.'

She covered the phone again. ‘What are you talking about, Gemma?'

‘Ask him for a parking space.'

‘What?'

‘He's obviously keen to have you work there – the ball's in your court, Helen.'

‘I'm not going to ask him for a parking space. I'm just an assistant.'

‘How are you going to get to work?' Gemma asked pointedly.

Helen blinked at her.

‘I assume you're not going to take the bus, so where are you going to park your car?' Gemma persisted. ‘It'll cost you a fortune to put it into a parking station.'

Helen was frowning now, cradling the phone and biting her lip.

‘Just ask him. What have you got to lose?' said Gemma.

She slowly moved the phone back to her ear, taking her hand away from the mouthpiece. ‘Hi, sorry about that, Myles.'

‘No problem,' he replied. ‘So what do you think?'

Helen cleared her throat. ‘Look, I am interested,' she began, Gemma nodding on the sidelines. ‘Definitely . . . very interested. It's just, I have a bit of an issue actually getting to the office.'

‘I'm not following you.'

‘Well, you see, I think I'm going to have to drive . . .'

‘Oh?'

‘Yeah,' she said weakly.

Gemma was making motions with her hands to try to get her to spin it out.

‘You live in Balmain, don't you?' Myles was asking. ‘You can't go by public transport?'

‘Aahmm . . .' Helen didn't want to be the widow whose husband had been hit by a bus. Not yet. ‘Oh, never mind, it's nothing.'

‘No, please, Helen,' he said kindly. ‘Tell me what the problem is. I'm sure we can work something out.'

Gemma was still gesticulating wildly, so Helen turned towards the table, shielding her eyes so she couldn't see her. She took a breath. ‘You see, Myles, the thing is, well, there is the ferry, but I'd have to catch a bus once I got to the other side, or else there's buses direct to the city, and I . . . I, um, you see, the thing is, I can't take the bus. It's, um, it's kind of like a . . . a phobia.'

That was so lame, but she couldn't think of anything else to say. There was silence down the line for a moment. He probably thought she was a crazy person.

‘Well, then, I guess we'll have to arrange a parking space for you,' he said finally.

Helen swallowed. ‘You will?'

‘Sure,' he said. ‘Just, ah, just keep it to yourself for now, okay?'

Helen smiled. ‘Okay.'

‘There is one condition though,' he added.

‘Oh, sure, what is it?'

‘You have to agree to take the job.'

Helen was still smiling. ‘I suppose that's only fair.'

‘Good.' He sounded pleased. ‘Glad to have you aboard.'

‘Thank you,' said Helen. ‘Thanks for everything.'

‘Not a problem. Anyway, I'd better let you go. Look after that ankle.'

Helen turned round after he hung up and Gemma was standing there almost bursting. ‘Well? What did he say?'

‘He's going to give me a parking space.'

‘Wow,' Gemma declared, in shock. Then she roused herself. ‘So that means you're taking the job?'

A smile formed slowly on Helen's face. ‘It was a condition of the parking space,' she said as the phone in her hand rang again, startling her. She pressed Talk and held it to her ear.

‘Hello?'

‘Helen? It's Myles again.'

Her heart sank a little. Had he changed his mind? Come to his senses?

‘Listen, I was wondering if you could make it in to the office one day next week?' he asked. ‘We might as well get the ball rolling.'

‘Oh, but I don't think Gemma wants to finish up just yet.'

Gemma's eyes widened, staring at her.

‘No, no,' he assured her. ‘I was only thinking you should have a little orientation first, seeing as you're so unfamiliar with the industry and how it works.'

‘Orientation?'

‘Mm, you can meet people from all the departments, get a bit of an idea of what they do, how the place is run. You'll be paid for your time,' he added quickly. ‘I think it's important, Helen. You haven't worked much outside a hospital, have you? And by the time Gemma leaves I'll really need you to be up to speed.'

‘Oh, well, sure,' said Helen. ‘What day would you want me to come in?'

‘What works for you? I know you have your boy to consider.'

Helen was thinking. ‘Is Thursday okay?'

‘Thursday's good. See you then.'