As she waited in the bakery for her turn, Cat the sneering sideline observer popped into her head. You do know why you’re feeling a little bit happy, don’t you? It’s because that guy whistled at you! Instead of feeling objectified like a good feminist should, you’re actually feeling flattered, aren’t you? You’re feeling pretty! You’re even feeling grateful! You must be getting old if you feel good when some guy in a truck whistles at you. You make me sick!

“What can I do for this beautiful young lady?”

The little man behind the counter gave her a big flirtatious wink.

“Mmmm. I don’t know. What are you offering to do for me?” said Cat, and the little man roared with appreciative laughter, slapping his hand on the counter.

“Hoo-eee! If I was twenty years younger!”

Bloody hell. Now you’re getting off flirting with old men.

Shut up, you boring cow! Get off my back!

As she drove toward Lyn’s place, the cake in its white paper bag on the seat next to her, together with a free chocolate éclair—“Don’t you be telling my wife!”—she remembered how Nana Kettle always flirted outrageously with the butcher and the man in the fruit shop. When you went shopping with Nana it was like shopping in a village. “Here comes trouble!” people would call out as she approached.

Cat reached over for the chocolate éclair and took a gigantic bite. Chocolate, pastry, and cream exploded sweetly in her mouth.

Nana would have to make all new friends in her new local shopping center. She would too. She’d probably know all their names after the first week.

Cat was there when Nana had walked through the empty rooms of her house for the last time. Her bruises had faded to dirty yellow. Her hair was bouncy and curly again. “Looks much bigger now, doesn’t it, darling?”

Then she took a big breath, turned on her heel, and walked out the front door.

“That’s that,” she said firmly.

Cat drove with one hand on the wheel and licked cream from her fingers.

She pulled into Lyn’s street and took another gigantic mouthful of éclair.

The sun really was quite warm. The éclair really was quite delicious.

She parked the car and peeled off her sweater as she got out of the car and walked up the driveway to knock on Lyn’s door; she listened for the sound of Maddie’s footsteps pattering excitedly down the hallway, about to catapult herself into Cat’s arms.

Maybe it wasn’t that hard to be happy.

Maybe tomorrow morning, she would walk into Graham Hollingdale’s office and hand him a letter of resignation, launch herself free, and see what happened.

Maybe she’d sell the unit.

Fuck it, maybe she’d even get her hair cut.

Steady on, girl, said sideline Cat.

Maybe it wasn’t giving in. Maybe it was fighting back.

Approximately two hours later Cat came back out to her car. She put on her seat belt, and turned the keys in the ignition.

There were goose bumps of possibility on her arms. Her fingers danced a celebratory jig on the steering wheel.

CHAPTER 27

Hank was about to arrive, and Lyn went into Kara’s bedroom to ask her whether her new shirt looked better buttoned or unbuttoned with a camisole underneath. One of Lyn’s new goals was to ask the people in her life for help more often (“Make at least two requests per week, whether needed or not”). So far, it was working surprisingly well. Everyone was so pleased to be asked (her mother-in-law almost cried with joy when Lyn asked her to bring a dessert to dinner), and occasionally their help actually was somewhat helpful.

She’d also enrolled in a meditation course. It was true that she gave up after one class (she couldn’t stand the way the teacher spoke so very, very slowly), but as she explained to Michael, the old Lyn would have forced herself to finish it, so that was definite progress.

Her battle with parking lots and panic attacks wasn’t quite over yet, but she was confident she would win. She would take a calmer, more relaxed approach to life—even if it killed her.

Lyn knocked on Kara’s door. “I need some fashion advice. Your father is useless,” she told Kara. “He just grunts. What do you think?”

Kara pushed her headphones down onto her neck and sat up on her bed. “I think unbuttoned but without the camisole. Show your ex your sexy stomach.”

Lyn unbuttoned the shirt to reveal her midriff and looked at herself in Kara’s wardrobe mirror.

“I’m too old for that, don’t you think?”

“No way. You look hot. Dad will freak.”

Lyn smiled and swung her hips.

“All right.” Michael probably wouldn’t even notice. She just wanted to please Kara really. “Thanks.”

The doorbell rang.

“Ooh! You’d better go quick before Dad punches him in the nose!” said Kara, in a tone of mild condescension, as if the affairs of Lyn and Michael could never hope to be that interesting.

Lyn met Michael in the hallway going to answer the bell, pulling rather sternly at his shirtsleeves, while Maddie ran ahead of him.

He blocked her way. “Cover your stomach, woman!”

Lyn did a netball feint and easily dodged around him.

She opened the door to reveal a rosy, double-chinned, smiley face.

“Hank?”

“Hey, Lyn!”

She peered at him. The boy from Spain was still there. He’d just been inflated like a balloon.

“I’ve packed on a few pounds as you can see.”