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‘Of course.'

He nodded. He was getting to something. ‘You know I would've been a really fucked dad.'

He wasn't going to get an argument out of her.

‘I'm no good at settling down, never have been. I reckon it's better I leave you to it, Gem. You look like you're doing a real good job.'

‘Thanks,' she said, guardedly.

‘So you don't have to worry, I won't bother you again. If you find yourself another bloke, let her call him Dad, tell her whatever you like.'

This was plain weird. Why go to the trouble of making contact to tell her he didn't want to have any contact? His total lack of contact had made that pretty obvious.

‘So you really are happy you had the baby?' he persisted.

‘Yes, Luke, I really am happy.'

‘Then I'm happy I got to do that for you.'

Gemma looked at him. ‘What do you want, Luke?'

He laughed, nodding, like she'd caught him out. ‘Yeah, you're right, there is something,' he said. ‘The thing is, I heard on the radio that the government gives you a handout for having a baby, like four grand, they said.'

Gemma was confused. ‘And?'

‘Well, I was thinking,' said Luke, ‘seeing as you wouldn't have had her without me, that maybe it's only fair that we, ah, split the prize money, you know?'

Gemma blinked. ‘What?'

‘Split it. My sperm, your egg, I reckon fifty-fifty's fair.'

‘Are you serious?'

‘Okay,' he relented. ‘Can't say I didn't try. Fair enough, you gotta look after her, so I'll accept sixty-forty.'

Gemma was looking at him, dumbfounded, and then without warning there was an explosion in her chest and she burst out laughing. She couldn't stop. She laughed so much she started to cry, and every time she tried to speak, the laughter welled up
again and she couldn't get the words out. Luke just sat there, looking bewildered. Gemma finally ran out of puff. She wiped her eyes, sniffing. ‘Oh, Luke, thank you so much. You don't know what a gift you've given me.'

He was still frowning at her.

‘Come here,' she said, standing up. ‘There's something I want to show you.'

Luke followed her out of the room and up the hall to the front door.

‘What is it, what do you want to show me, babe?' he asked.

‘The front door,' said Gemma, opening it. ‘I'm showing you the door, Luke. Please never come anywhere near me again.'

He stared at her for a second, till the penny dropped, and then his expression became a little less amiable.

‘Crazy bitch,' he muttered as he walked past her and out the door.

Gemma closed it behind him and turned to hear Lola stirring. She hurried back to the crib and scooped her up in her arms. ‘Come on, Mummy's little cash cow,' she cooed, kissing Lola on the nose. ‘Wait till the girls hear this.'

‘You know what the worst part of the whole thing is?' said Gemma, after Helen and Phoebe had expressed first shock, then disbelief, then hilarity.

She was sitting cross-legged on the floor next to Lola, who was lying under a mobile, kicking her legs. ‘The worst part is I was actually in love with him once.' Gemma shook her head. ‘Or I thought I was.' She looked up at Phoebe and Helen, who were sharing the sofa. ‘I just want to state for the record that you both have my permission to do an intervention if I ever turn up with another guy like that.'

‘Luke had better be the last in what has been a very long line of losers and misfits,' declared Phoebe. ‘The guys she used to bring home,' she said to Helen, rolling her eyes. ‘Talk about dregs: they were the fish John West didn't even consider for rejection, not even for cat food, not even –'

‘Okay, Phoebe, I think she's got the picture,' said Gemma. ‘So
tell me, what is my problem? Do I choose them or do they choose me?'

‘I reckon you choose them,' said Phoebe, ‘because you don't think you deserve any better.'

‘Charlie said something like that,' said Gemma, wrinkling her brow. ‘But I don't get it. I don't know whether I deserve better, but I'd certainly like to have better. Why would I intentionally choose someone who was no good for me?'

‘Self-loathing,' said Phoebe bluntly. ‘You've never thought you were good enough, because you didn't think Mum and Dad loved you as much as Ben or me. You are sporting the classic middle child – otherwise known as “chip on shoulder” – syndrome.'

‘Are you thinking of writing a self-help book, Phee?'

‘I get to watch Dr Phil now that I'm home in the daytime,' she said airily. ‘He makes some interesting points, you know.'

‘Maybe, but I still don't reckon I choose losers because I think Mum and Dad don't love me,' said Gemma. ‘I have worked out that they do, in their own peculiar way.'

‘Yeah, but this stuff is buried pretty deep, Gem,' said Phoebe. ‘Even after we've rationalised it as adults, it's still there. And it's a classic defence mechanism against rejection to pick someone who can't really love you.'

Gemma was frowning. ‘What do you mean?'

‘You pick deadheads so you've got someone to blame when it all goes pear-shaped. I picked a robot who is probably incapable of love, so I can reassure myself now that it's over that it wasn't because I'm not lovable.'

Helen winced, waiting for Phee to cast her x-ray vision on her.

‘You've got it all worked out, haven't you, little sister?' said Gemma.

Phoebe shrugged. ‘It's not rocket science. I mean, let's face it, how scary is the idea of someone getting really close, loving you, right deep down to your soul?'

Helen was just taking a sip of her tea and she coughed, spluttering it everywhere. She put her cup back on the coffee table and grabbed a tissue, mopping up the spills on her T-shirt as she coughed repeatedly to clear her throat. When she looked up, both Gemma and Phoebe were staring at her, clearly bemused.

‘You right there, Helen?' Gemma drawled. ‘Phoebe touch a nerve?'

‘It just went down the wrong way,' Helen mumbled.

‘Did Myles find you at Brookhaven today?' Gemma asked.

Helen nodded faintly.

‘So, what happened?'

‘He, um . . .' She cleared her throat again. ‘Actually, he wanted to let me know they've found a permanent MD, so he'll be heading back to Melbourne. He's put in a good word for both of us though.'

‘Hold on,' Gemma interrupted. ‘He's going back to Melbourne? He didn't say anything about that.'

‘Well, it is where he lives.'

‘What kind of game is he playing?' she cried. ‘Just when I'd started to think he wasn't so bad after all, it turns out he's just another bastard –'

‘Gemma,' Helen had to stop her. ‘He said it's up to me.'

‘What?'

‘Myles, he said it's up to me whether he goes, that the ball's in my court.'

‘You mean he won't go if you ask him to stay?' said Phoebe.

‘I guess,' Helen said in a small voice.

‘So what are you going to do?' asked Gemma.

‘I don't know.' Her voice was almost inaudible now.

Gemma was watching her closely. ‘What are you so afraid of, Helen?'

She shrugged. ‘It's hard to explain.'

‘I understand better than you probably think,' said Gemma. ‘David died young, so he's going to stay forever young in your memory, always the good guy, never disappointing you, letting you down. I'm not suggesting he would have done; I'm just saying that's bloody hard for anyone to compete with.'

No, she didn't understand at all, Helen sighed inwardly. ‘That's not the problem,' she murmured. ‘In fact, it's probably the opposite.'

She looked at their expectant faces, waiting for her to spell it out. Helen steeled herself. ‘I'm afraid . . .' she began, ‘that Myles might be a better partner, a better lover, more compassionate,
interesting, intelligent . . . that he might turn out to be the love of my life.'

Gemma and Phoebe took a moment to process that.

‘I'm struggling to understand the problem here, Helen,' said Gemma. ‘Myles loves you, and you've obviously fallen hard for him, and the sex must have been pretty mind-blowing –'

‘Gem!' said Phoebe.

‘She's right,' said Helen glumly.

‘You needn't look so miserable about it,' said Gemma. ‘Half your luck, Helen. You should be dancing on the rooftops and singing hallelujah.'

‘That my husband was run over by a bus and I got to meet Myles?'

‘Oh, Helen, no, is that what's bothering you?' said Phoebe. ‘You can't think like that.'

‘But I can't help it,' Helen insisted. ‘The way I feel about Myles . . . well, I keep thinking that maybe I didn't love David enough. That maybe if I'd got up to see him off that morning, things would have been different, he might have been more . . . present in the world somehow, and he might not have stepped off that kerb. And now I have this albatross hanging around my neck, and I don't see how I can ever be happy with Myles because it'll always be tainted by the fact that we're only together because David did step off that kerb.'

Gemma and Phoebe stared at her, speechless.

‘You didn't push him in front of that bus, Helen,' Gemma said finally.

Now it was Helen's turn to be speechless.

‘Could you be more blunt, Gem?' Phoebe rolled her eyes.

‘Someone has to say it like it is,' she declared. ‘You have no reason to feel guilty, Helen. You would have stayed with David for the rest of your life, wouldn't you?'

She nodded. ‘Of course.'

‘Even though the picture I've been getting is that things were pretty ordinary between the two of you?' Gemma suggested. ‘Not bad, just ordinary. But you would have been loyal to the end. And the thing is, you were. This is the end, Helen: David's gone, till death you did part. Sure, you wouldn't have met Myles
if he hadn't died, that's a fact. But that doesn't make it wrong. That's like saying Lola's a mistake because I had her with Luke. You don't think that, do you?'

‘Of course not,' Helen said.

‘I rest my case.' Gemma got up onto her knees and crawled over to Helen, taking hold of both her hands. ‘Do you really think David would have wanted you to live a mediocre life out of some kind of misplaced respect for him? You have a right to be happy, Helen. You have a life. Don't be scared to live it.'

‘Charlie's still not answering his phone,' said Gemma as Helen walked in the house after dropping Noah at preschool. ‘Or my messages.'

Helen nodded vaguely.

Gemma looked at her. ‘I take it you're not going into work again today?'

‘No,' she replied. ‘There's a big board meeting,' she added, as though that explained everything.

Gemma wondered if she ought to say something, but enough had probably been said yesterday. Helen was the type who had to sit on things for a while. Gemma, on the other hand, was not.

‘Well, if you're not using the car,' she said, ‘would you mind if I take it for a couple of hours?'

‘Sure,' said Helen. ‘Where are you off to?'

‘I've decided I'm going to see Charlie and force his hand. I think that pep talk worked better on me, yesterday,' she said pointedly. ‘I know what I want and I'm not going to wait around any longer. You know what they say: if the mountain won't come to Mohammed . . .'

‘I think you got that the wrong way around,' Helen smiled faintly. ‘Do you want to leave Lola with me?'

‘No, but thanks,' said Gemma. ‘I don't know how long I'll be, and
she's going to need feeding. Best that she's with me. Don't worry though, I'll have the car back in time for you to pick up Noah.'

Gemma turned into the street where Charlie lived in Newtown. She hadn't been there for ages, since before she'd taken off with Luke, and that felt like another lifetime ago. Newtown was as hard a place to find a park in as Balmain, so Gemma ended up blocks away. It was easier to set Lola up in her pram, with all her paraphernalia, than try to carry it all. Of course, that took nearly another ten minutes.

Gemma had lately come to envy the third-world women who carried their babies in simple fabric slings across their backs. Then again, they were usually toiling in the fields at the same time, so perhaps she didn't have it so bad. But she still baulked at all the stuff she had to cart around. And no matter what she brought, she always ended up with too much of what she didn't need and not enough of what she did: Lola would throw up on her only cardigan and the weather would turn cool. Or she'd bring seven cardigans and wouldn't need one of them. Thank God she was breastfeeding. If she had to carry feeding equipment as well, Gemma figured she'd need a trailer attachment on the pram.

Finally she was on her way up the street towards Charlie's place. He'd better be there after all this. Gemma manoeuvred the pram through his front gate to the door, which, apart from one small step, was at street level. It was a tiny, single-storey cottage, one in a long row of the same. She remembered when Charlie bought it. They'd known each other a while by then, and Gemma had teased him about becoming a mortgage slave. It seemed like such an alien, grown-up thing to do. What Gemma had failed to appreciate was that Charlie was a grown-up, and so was she, in fact. Pity she hadn't acted more like one.

However, as she often reminded herself these days, she would not have Lola right now if she'd made more sensible decisions back then. Gemma liked to believe there was enough space in a lifetime to make mistakes and live on the edge for a while, as long as you pulled back and took responsibility when it really
mattered. And now that she had a daughter, it really mattered. Gemma was finally ready to be a grown-up.

She rang the bell three or four times straight, till she heard Charlie call from inside, ‘Okay, okay, I'm coming.'

A moment later the door opened and Charlie squinted out at her. He must have just woken up, but he'd managed to pull on jeans and a T-shirt to answer the door. ‘Gemma, what are you doing here?' he said, dazed.

‘If the mountain won't come to Mohammed,' she said, pushing the pram into the house past him.

‘I think you got that the wrong way around,' he muttered.

‘Whatever.' Gemma walked down the narrow hall, glancing into his bedroom, relieved to see his bed dishevelled but empty – an uncomfortable thought had crossed her mind when he'd opened the door half-asleep. She pushed the pram into a corner of the living room and turned around to face him. He was leaning against the doorway, watching her.

‘Did you get my message yesterday, about Luke?' she asked.

He nodded but didn't say anything.

‘Why didn't you call?'

He shrugged. ‘Sorry, I was going to call . . . I've been busy.'

Gemma regarded him sceptically. ‘What's going on, Charlie?'

‘Nothing.'

‘So it seems.'

He scratched his head, ruffling his hair so that a tuft stuck out sideways. ‘I'm going to need caffeine if you're going to start speaking in riddles,' he said, turning towards the kitchen.

Gemma followed him. ‘Okay, I'll give it to you straight.' She paused, choosing her words. ‘Luke's not going to have anything to do with Lola, or me. He's completely out of the picture. Okay?'

Charlie was at the sink filling the kettle. ‘It has nothing to do with me, Gem.'

‘Of course it does.'

‘How do you figure that?'

‘Charlie, will you please just stop and listen to what I have to say?'

He turned around and leaned back against the bench, folding his arms.

Gemma took a breath. ‘Okay, here it is,' she began. ‘I don't want my life to be a series of train wrecks any more, Charlie, and I don't need to wait for my hormones to settle. My hormones are fine. This is not a rash decision; in fact, along with keeping Lola, this is the best decision I've ever made. I want to be with you, Charlie, I want to build a life with you and Lola. You're the best man I've ever known. You're good and you're kind, and you're decent, and you're going to make a wonderful father. And I love you, Charlie.'

Gemma's heart was beating hard against her ribs. Didn't he have anything to say to that? Apparently not. He just stood there, looking uncomfortable.

Maybe he just needed prompting. Gemma cleared her throat. ‘This is the part where you say you love me, Charlie, and we fall into each other's arms, and the closing credits roll and they play some lame song, like . . . I don't know . . .'

‘“Will You Love Me Tomorrow?”' Charlie suggested.

Okay, now she could see where he was coming from. ‘That depends,' said Gemma. ‘“Are You Strong Enough To Be My Man?”'

‘“You Can't Always Get What You Want”,' he countered.

‘Well,' said Gemma. ‘“I Believe In A Thing Called Love”.'

‘“Love Will Tear Us Apart”.'

‘“Love Will Keep Us Together”.'

‘“Only Love Will Break Your Heart”.'

‘“All You Need Is Love”.'

Charlie sighed. ‘“If Love Is A Red Dress Hang Me In Rags”.'

‘What?' Gemma frowned.

‘It's really the name of a song,' he said sheepishly.

‘So what are you saying, Charlie? You don't believe in love, or you don't believe I love you?'

He was quiet for a moment. ‘I do believe you think you love me, that you love me in some way, but it's not enough. I'm not in your league, Gem, never have been. And it goes against all the laws of nature to cross leagues. Like crossing the streams in the
Ghostbusters
movie, and look what happened there.'

‘I'm so glad you take relationship cues from an eighties sci-fi comedy,' Gemma snapped. ‘I happen to think this is serious, Charlie.'

‘Sorry,' he said. ‘I think it's serious too. It wouldn't work, Gem.'

Her face dropped. ‘We could make it work. If we both commit –'

‘And what's going to happen when the guy comes along that you really fall in love with?' he said. ‘The right one, the one you should hold out for, Gem.'

‘What if he has, what if he's been there all along and it's just taken me a while to realise?'

‘It shouldn't have taken this long,' said Charlie. ‘You should have felt it much sooner. You know: the earth moving, the harps playing, all that.'

Gemma had a brainwave. ‘So it's the sex?'

‘Pardon?'

‘If you want the earth to move, then fine, let's have sex,' said Gemma, pulling up her T-shirt.

‘Gem, what are you doing?' he said, coming over and taking hold of her to stop her. ‘I'm not going to have sex with you.'

She looked at him. ‘You don't find me attractive any more? Since I had a baby?'

Charlie sighed, pulling her T-shirt back down. ‘Of course I find you attractive,' he said. ‘Incredibly attractive.'

‘You do?' she said, looping her arms around his neck.

‘Don't, Gem,' he murmured.

‘Why not?' she breathed, tilting her head to brush her lips against his.

And suddenly he caught her up in his arms and his mouth came down on hers and he was holding her tight and kissing her frantically. Gemma took a moment to catch up . . . then as suddenly as it had started, it stopped again. Charlie released her abruptly, turning away to lean against the kitchen bench, his back to her.

‘What's the matter?'

‘I can't do this, Gemma.'

She took a step closer. ‘Why not? What's wrong?'

He didn't respond. Gemma nestled into his back and drew her arms around him. ‘You kissed me then, Charlie. The other time, I kissed you, but just now, you kissed me. You feel something, Charlie.'

He wrenched away from her. ‘Of course I fucking feel something, Gemma,' he said.

She just stared at him.

‘I've been in love with you from the start; you knew that, everyone knew that. It took me a long time to get over you, Gem, but I finally did. I'm in a good place now. And I don't want to go back there.'

‘What are you talking about?'

‘When Luke rang the other day, Jesus, it all came back again.'

‘But nothing was going to happen, Charlie!' she cried. ‘Why don't you believe me?'

‘Because I can't, that's the whole problem, Gem. Don't you see that? It won't work if I can't trust you.'

Gemma was bewildered. ‘But I don't want anyone else, Charlie. I've had enough losers. It might have taken me a while to realise, but I know now for sure – I want to be with you.'

But he just looked at her sadly. ‘I don't want to win by default, Gemma.'

‘Charlie . . .' She didn't know what to say to him. He was standing right there, right in arm's reach, yet he was out of her reach, and there was not a thing she could do about it. It seemed the universe had exhausted its goodwill towards her in giving her Lola. She couldn't have them both. But the void Gemma felt, imagining not having Charlie in her life, was almost more than she could bear to contemplate.

‘You know, Charlie, I always thought you were one of the few people in my life who really got me,' she said after a while, the ache in her throat making it hard for her to speak. ‘And I was right. You get me so well you don't want to have anything to do with me.'

‘Gemma,' he chided gently, taking a step towards her.

‘No.' She held her hands up to stop him. She didn't think she could cope if he touched her now. ‘You're right, Charlie. We are in different leagues, and clearly I'm way out of yours. I'm really sorry, so sorry, for hurting you . . . for everything. I won't bother you any more.'

She turned into the living room, blinking back tears.

‘Gem . . .'

She ignored him; she had to get out of there. She started to wheel the pram out of the corner.

‘Gemma, please wait.'

She stopped, but she didn't look at him.

‘I don't want you to go. Not like this. Can't we be friends?'

Gemma turned around then. ‘I don't think so, Charlie. You might have your feelings under control, but I haven't got to that point. I can't be around you if I don't think there's any chance . . . I wouldn't care how long it was going to take, but I have to have some hope.'

He stared at her for a while, not saying anything. Gemma could feel her heart plummeting into her stomach. She felt sick as she started to push the pram over to the hall.

‘Gemma, stop.'

She sighed, turning around again.

‘I, um, I'm still going to need a production assistant.'

‘Charlie, I said I can't be around you –'

‘Look, are you interested or not?' he interrupted firmly. ‘I don't want anyone else . . . for the position . . . and well, I can't make any promises right now . . . It's going to take time.'

Gemma gazed across the room at him. He could take all the time in the world.

‘Okay?' he prompted.

‘Okay,' she croaked, her voice breaking as she burst into tears. A moment later she felt his arms around her, and she melted into his chest, crying with relief. The universe was going to give her another chance after all, and she wasn't going to screw it up this time.

Charlie drew back to look at her as she calmed down. ‘Are you all right?'

Gemma nodded, wiping her eyes. He planted a firm kiss on her forehead, and she smiled up at him.

‘So we have a deal?' said Charlie.

‘Yes we do,' she said happily. ‘Though, actually, I have been meaning to raise something with you.'

‘You have?'

‘You know me, Charlie: I don't do the “assistant” thing very well. Just ask Myles.'

‘So what are you saying?'

‘I'm saying that “producer” sounds better. Don't you think?'

Charlie's face relaxed into a broad smile. ‘I think I'm probably not going to have much of a say in it.'

‘Good answer.'