“It was probably too soon to ask you,” said Patrick. “But it just felt so right and I thought, to hell with it, I know she’s the one, so I—”

He stopped and blinked slowly, like one of her clients coming out of a trance.

“Did you say you were pregnant?”

So he’s going to be the hypnotist’s husband.

He was doing the whole movie-scene deal. The pink-sky sunset. The champagne. The bended knee.

I thought: They’re actually going to live that life. See, it really does happen to some people. They’re going to have a beautiful, elegant wedding, probably on the beach, and it won’t rain, but if it does it will be funny; the men will hold up big umbrellas and the women will giggle and run in their high heels. She’ll only have one glass of champagne because she’s pregnant. And then the baby will be born, and everyone will gather in the hospital room, with flowers and jokes and cameras. Then they’ll have another baby, the opposite sex of the first one. They’ll have dinner parties with friends and such busy weekends, and they’ll brush away sentimental tears at their children’s concerts, and when the kids are older they’ll travel and take up hobbies and eventually move into a friendly retirement village, and when they die their children and grandchildren will gather around and mourn them.

Who would mourn me if I died today? My colleagues? I think they’d get over it pretty fast and then they’d be fighting for my office. Friends? In the space of a few years I’ve got myself crossed off everyone’s Christmas card list. It was my fault. I couldn’t be bothered. I never returned their calls or answered their e-mails. I was too busy following Patrick. It’s quite a time-consuming hobby. My hairdresser seems fond of me, but who would tell her that I’d died? She’d just think I’d left her for another hairdresser. Which I would never do. Maybe I should leave a note. In the event of my death please let my hairdresser know.

There will be no grief or pain for the hypnotist and her husband, and if there is, it will always pass. They’ll support each other until they’re over it. The doctor will give them prescriptions to fix the pain.

It’s strange, but now that this has happened I find I can no longer imagine getting back together with Patrick. Something has changed. He never proposed to me. We never even talked about it. He’d already had the big white wedding with Colleen. I spent ages looking through their huge leather-bound rectangle of a photo album, staring at Colleen and her big white poufy-sleeved dress, wondering what she would have thought of me.

One morning when we were lying in bed, Patrick said, out of the blue, “I’m keeping you forever.”

And that was all I needed. That was my romantic proposal and engagement ring and wedding ceremony and honeymoon all in one. As far as I was concerned, we were married from that moment.

But obviously not as far as Patrick was concerned.

Ellen is the sort of woman who makes a man feel the urge to go down on one knee and propose, whereas I am not.

When I walked over to them at that picnic table, I felt like some sort of hideous half-human creature. I could smell my own ugliness.

I accept it. It’s fine. They will be forever on the inside, and I will forever be on the outside.

But I’ll make sure they always know I’m still there, looking in, peering through the glass, tapping on the window. I will never go away.

“She’ll never go away,” said Patrick. “If you marry me, you’ll have to accept that she’s part of the package. My son. My mum. My dad. My brother. My stalker.”

“Yes,” said Ellen. “I understand.”

“I hope it’s a girl,” said Patrick. “The baby. I hope it’s a little girl. I’d love a beautiful little girl. Would you like a little baby girl?”

“Sure,” said Ellen.

Patrick wasn’t drunk, but his words were softening around the edges. They were sitting on the balcony of their hotel room, and he was drinking the rest of the champagne.

It appeared they were engaged. Ellen was wearing the ring on her left hand. It kept catching her eye. She had said yes.

Patrick was thrilled about the baby. Ecstatic, even. When the news of her pregnancy had finally sunk in, he’d pulled her into his arms and held her like she was something precious. “A baby,” he murmured. “Bloody hell. Who cares about anything else? We’re having a baby.”

Everything was perfect, except that Saskia’s face seemed to be permanently floating on the peripheral of Ellen’s vision, like the shocking memory of a bad car accident: the crunch of metal, the flinging back of the head. She kept replaying that moment when Saskia walked toward them: the wide, friendly smile, the eyes made blank by her dark sunglasses.

Ellen’s righteous fury had abated, and now she felt strangely spent, empty of feeling, as though she really had been in some sort of traumatic accident.

“It’s weird, but I didn’t feel as angry as I usually do when Saskia turned up today,” said Patrick. “I just felt this calmness. A sort of acceptance.”

So her posthypnotic suggestion had worked a treat. Ellen felt both professional pride and professional guilt. She said nothing. Her back ached. She wriggled around in her chair, trying to get comfortable, and fiddled with the ring.

“Is it too tight?” asked Patrick, watching her. “We can change the size.”

“It’s perfect,” said Ellen. “I’m just not used to wearing rings.”

Patrick emptied the rest of the champagne into his glass and settled back into his chair, stretching his legs out and entwining his toes around the bars of the balcony fence.

“Yes. A beautiful blond-haired little girl who looks just like you,” he said happily, looking out at the moonlit night.

“Except I don’t have blond hair.” Ellen laughed.

“Of course you don’t.” Patrick rolled his eyes at his own stupidity and reached out to lightly touch his hand against Ellen’s hair. “I think I was imagining her looking like Jack.”

Ellen thought of the photo she’d seen at his parents’ place of Colleen sitting on the hospital bed holding Jack. Her hair, she remembered, was long, wavy and very blond.

When they got back to Sydney, they told all and sundry about the engagement, and just their closest friends and family about the—shhhh—pregnancy.

People seemed surprisingly happy for them. They got tears in their eyes. They sent flowers and cards. They turned up with bottles of champagne and flamboyant hugs.