Patrick shook his head in an amazed sort of way, and gave Ellen a sad, sentimental smile, as if she would be equally amazed by Millie’s bravery.

Ellen felt a surge of resentment against everyone. She didn’t particularly want to meet the strange man who was her father this weekend. She didn’t particularly want to meet Patrick’s dead wife’s family. (How could she not feel guilty for being alive when their only beloved child was dead?)

She was pregnant. She had never felt so tired in her life. Her hallway was crammed with stuff. She just wanted to be left alone to sleep and sleep and sleep, and while she slept she would like Patrick to get rid of those boxes.

That’s what she wanted to do on Sunday.

Patrick licked honey from his fingers. “Jack is excited about you meeting Millie and Frank. He told them you’d hypnotize them.”

“You told Jack I was coming before you even invited me?” said Ellen.

“I know. I’m really sorry. I’m an idiot. I just had it in my head that you were coming.”

“But I can’t come!” said Ellen.

“But if you ask your dad—”

“He’s not my dad,” said Ellen. She noticed her teeth were clenched together and made a conscious effort to relax her jaw. “I’ve never met the man. Please don’t call him my dad.”

“Fine, I know that meeting your father is important to you. Obviously! It’s huge. But I’m positive that he wouldn’t mind if—”

“I’m not changing it,” said Ellen. “Just explain to Millie and Frank that I can’t make it this time. I’ll come next month.”

“Is it that you feel awkward about meeting them? Because they won’t make you feel awkward. God, they were even nice to you-know-who—and that was only a short time after Colleen had died.”

“You-know-who? You mean Saskia? You just said two seconds ago that you’d never introduced another woman to Colleen’s parents!”

Patrick’s voice rose. “Another sane woman. She doesn’t count.”

Ellen’s voice rose to meet his. “She counted then!”

Patrick’s face took on that look of controlled fury he got whenever Saskia’s name came up. “Why are you taking her side?”

“I’m just saying—” began Ellen.

“Forget it. Forget about Sunday. Forget I ever mentioned it. You’re right. We’ll do it another time.” He stood up. “I’m going to get some more stuff from the house.”

He slammed out of the kitchen without looking at her.

“Thanks for eating all my crumpets!” Ellen yelled after him.

Then to her complete astonishment she picked up the plate and threw it against a wall.

Everyone is moving.

Jeff from next door is moving down the coast. The lively new family will soon be moving in.

Patrick and Jack are moving in with Ellen.

I’m the only one standing still.

Tonight after work I sat in my car outside Patrick’s place while he loaded boxes into the back of his pickup truck. He obviously still doesn’t believe in movers. I remembered the day that I moved in to his house. He insisted on moving all my stuff. He got Stinky to help him, while I looked after Jack. We went to the park down the road. There was another little toddler there about the same age as Jack, so we had to practice sharing. Jack thought the park belonged to him. The little girl was exactly the same. They both kept saying, “Mine! Mine!” while the other mother and I chanted those inane things parents say, “Share!” “Play nicely!” “Take turns!”

The other mother sighed, “This stage is just so exhausting, isn’t it?” and I agreed, except, of course, I didn’t think it was exhausting because I was giddy with happiness. I was in love with Patrick, and I was in love with Jack, and the three of us were starting our new life together.

That night we had pizza and beer, and we let Jack have a piece of pizza. His first ever. Patrick took photos. He said it was a historic moment. Jack had the funniest wide-eyed, blissful expression—like he couldn’t believe that he’d lived on this earth for three whole years without knowing about the existence of this extraordinary thing called pizza. He chomped his way through it like a machine. “I know, mate, I’m with you,” said Patrick. “Just wait till you have it with a nice cold beer.”

I was there when your son ate pizza for the first time, Patrick. I helped teach him how to share. I was there, and I’m still here.

He didn’t look too happy tonight as he dumped his boxes in the back of his pickup truck. He didn’t look like a man who was getting married and having a baby. He looked sort of grumpy and middle-aged, to be honest.

I guess it could have been the fact that he knew I was there watching him. I know my presence infuriates him, but, I don’t know, I sensed there was something else. I know him better than anyone.

When he put the last box in the pickup truck, he came over to my car. I wound down my window and he bent down and leaned in and said, “Hi, Saskia.”

I was taken aback. He hasn’t said my name in such a long time. Or if he had said it, he’d yelled it, as if even the very word “Saskia” was something evil and disgusting.

This time he said it in such a normal way, like I was an old friend.

And for a second I was filled with jubilant, insane hope. He’s leaving her, I thought. He’s back. It’s him again. It’s all over. All I had to do was wait it out.

But then he spoke, and I saw that he was actually angrier than I’d ever seen him before. It was like he was carrying a bomb and he had to walk and talk very quietly and carefully so it wouldn’t detonate. He said, “I don’t want you going anywhere near Ellen again. Do you understand me? Follow me, if you must, but leave her alone. She’s done nothing to deserve this.”

He was going all knight-in-shining-armor, protecting his fair maiden from the dragon. Me. I was the dragon.

“I haven’t—”

“The book.”

“I was returning it!”

“The flower.” He spat out the word “flower.” You’d think I’d left her a dead animal.

“Patrick, I like Ellen,” I said. I wanted to reassure him that I wasn’t any danger to her. The flower was meant to be a sort of friendly, even apologetic gesture. I wanted her gone somewhere far away, yes, but I didn’t want to hurt her.