“I just mean, I guess, that his first wife passed away, and that—”

She was interrupted by a high-pitched shrieking sound from the sound system. Everyone winced and stuck their fingers in their ears.

It finally stopped and someone said, “Apologies!” over the microphone

David said, “I don’t think you’ve got anything to worry about.”

“Why?”

He turned to look at her. “Ellen,” he said. (She thought it might have been the first time he’d used her name, whereas she’d been “David” this and “David,” because she always overused people’s names when she didn’t know them that well.)

“The man was hanging curtains for you this morning.”

“Yes, I know—”

“That’s a mongrel of a job. As my dad would have said.”

“Is it?”

“And he was pretty keen to show me the ultrasound pictures. Doesn’t look like a complicated relationship to me.”

The marquee filled with the sound of a thrumming guitar. Three flamenco dancers stalked onto the stage flicking their gorgeous dresses and tossing their heads, their beautiful young faces fierce and regal.

“Olé!” said Ellen’s father. He lifted his hands above his head and pretended to click imaginary castanets. It was a profoundly dorky dad-like move that would have caused any self-respecting teenage son or daughter to die with shame.

“Olé,” said Ellen agreeably.

She settled back in her chair to watch the dancing, and as she did she felt one last, lingering doubt about Patrick’s love—a doubt she didn’t know she’d had—quietly drift away.

So this was what it was like to have a father.

“Knock, knock?”

It was Tammy’s voice outside my hospital room.

“Don’t mention—” I said to Kate. It wasn’t so much that I thought Tammy would judge me, although of course she would, but that I knew she’d be far too interested, too intrigued and fascinated. She’d gasp and shriek and ask question after question. She’d want to explore my motivations and Patrick’s reactions for hours at a time. She’d never let the topic die.

“Of course not.” Kate put down her knitting. “I won’t even tell Lance.”

She would tell Lance. She would tell him as soon as they got home tonight. There was no way you could keep that sort of secret from your partner.

But I had a feeling that although Lance would think I was one crazy bitch for a while, and he’d be glad he never dated me, and he’d feel sorry for Patrick, in a few years’ time, if Kate happened to bring it up, he’d say vaguely, “Oh, that’s right, what was that story again?” He wasn’t the type to hoard personal information, and I also felt that some sort of innate integrity or morality or dislike of gossip would prevent him from telling people at the office. Anyway, I had a feeling that I wouldn’t be going back to work there. Things were going to change.

“What up, bitches,” said Tammy.

Kate and I rolled our eyes at each other: Tammy and Lance still insisted on trying to talk like Baltimore drug dealers.

Tammy reverted to her normal voice. “Look at you two grandmas with your knitting.”

She tossed a pile of mail on the bed in front of me. “By the way, Janet and Peter said hi.”

“Janet and Peter?” I said blankly.

“Your neighbors,” said Tammy. Ah, the Labrador family from next door. I tried to visualize their faces and couldn’t. Perhaps I’d never really looked at them.

“I went over there for dinner last night,” said Tammy.

It was interesting, watching someone else living in my home and living my life, showing me how easy and natural it could be. She wouldn’t have hesitated when they asked her over. “Sure! What will I bring?” she would have said.

“They’re fun,” she continued. “We played Monopoly with the kids.”

“I hate Monopoly,” commented Kate, picking up her needles again.

“Anyway, we’re planning a welcome home party for you,” said Tammy.

“A party?” I said. “I don’t really do parties.”

“What are you talking about?” said Tammy. “I was telling Janet and Peter about that Halloween party you had years ago. Remember? It was one of the best parties I’ve ever been to.”

I did remember. It was when Patrick and I had just started dating but before we’d moved in together. I’d gone all out and decorated my flat with pumpkin lights and cobwebs. I even put dry ice in tubs for a creepy, smoky effect. Everyone dressed up. Patrick came as Dracula and kept bending me over so he could sink his fangs into my neck. I was Morticia, with a long black wig and a spider choker around my neck. I remember the photos: You’d never seen a happier Morticia.

But the girl who hosted that party doesn’t exist anymore, I thought.

“You made pumpkin pie,” said Tammy. “It was divine.”

“I’ve never eaten pumpkin pie,” said Kate.

“I’ll make it for you,” I said, and suddenly I was listing the ingredients in my head: cream cheese, cinnamon, ginger. And then I was struck by how very much I wanted to make pumpkin pie for Kate and Lance and Tammy and maybe even the family next door, to see people enjoying my food and asking for second helpings. How long had it been since I’d been the hostess, since I’d cooked for someone?

I remembered the Anzac biscuits I’d baked in Ellen’s kitchen and I shuddered at the memory. I picked up the mail to distract myself.

“Apparently Janet’s brother has taken a shine to you,” said Tammy. “So we’re going to match you up at this party.”

“Janet’s brother?” She was talking nonsense. “I’ve never even met her brother.” As she talked I sorted my mail: Bills. Junk mail. More bills.

“He met you once on your way out,” said Tammy. “He thinks he’s seen you before, at Avalon Beach, boogie boarding? Could that be right?”

I picked up a letter addressed to me in neat handwriting that was vaguely familiar. I noticed there was a strange bulge in the bottom right-hand corner of the envelope.

“I tried boogie boarding a few times,” I said. I flicked the envelope back and forth between my fingertips as I remembered that woolly-haired man at the beach, the way his shadow fell over me that morning when I lay in the sand in my red dress, the day after I’d turned up at Patrick’s parents’ house when Ellen was there.