By Lyn’s calculations, when Nana died, she hadn’t left her house in two years.

Mental illnesses were hereditary. What if Lyn had been the one marked at birth to end up “off her rocker”? The one the wicked fairy godmother had cursed, This one shall be the nut case!

She had to nip it in the bud!

And so, there were numerous, logical, justifiable reasons why she had chosen to share her little problem with an ex-boyfriend—someone she barely knew—out of all the people in her life.

For starters, Hank was American. Americans were more open about this sort of thing. They liked chatting about deeply embarrassing emotions. They loved weird phobias! There was no such thing as an Aussie Oprah.

Then there was Hank’s profession: He published self-help and self-development books. He spoke a language that most of the people in Lyn’s life found cringe-worthy. He could provide articles and facts and stats and lists of instructions.

Finally, there was the fact that Hank didn’t really know her. He didn’t know, for example, that Lyn was meant to be the sensible one, the calm one.

“There’s this special tranquillity about you,” Michael had said once, and she’d treasured that remark, especially when he followed it up with, “which is most definitely missing in your mad sisters!”

Hank didn’t know that Lyn had no right to feel anxious when everyone knew her life was so wonderful, while Cat’s was falling to pieces and Gemma couldn’t seem to make one.

It made perfect sense to tell someone on the other side of the world, someone who wouldn’t tease or guffaw or say with disappointment, “But that’s not like you, Lyn!”

“You haven’t published a book on parkinglotaphobia by any chance, have you?” she had written to Hank, trying to sound wry and self-deprecating, not panicky and weird.

She put her elbows on her desk, rested her head in the palms of her hands, and watched the little blue stripe zip across her computer screen.

“Lyn! Have you seen my mobile?” called out Michael.

She picked up the phone on her desk and dialed Michael’s mobile number.

“Don’t worry, honey!” There was a banging of feet. “I think I hear it ringing!”

“I have to say, these tubby creatures set my teeth on edge,” commented Maxine, as she helped Lyn decorate a giant, Teletubby-shaped birthday cake the night before Maddie’s second birthday.

“Gemma said she had nightmares after she watched Maddie’s latest video.” Lyn formed a licorice stick into a smile and pressed it down on the bright yellow icing. “She was being attacked by feral Teletubbies.”

“That child says the strangest things.” Maxine frowned distractedly at the garishly colored photo in the recipe book.

“That child is thirty-three.”

“Humph.”

Lyn opened a packet of M&M’s and observed her mother. She was leaning forward and a lock of red hair had escaped from behind her ear.

“I think I know what they’ve been up to,” Michael had whispered when Frank and Maxine came breezing into the house that evening, both of them looking giggly and pink.

“Are you growing your hair, Mum?” asked Lyn suddenly, suspiciously.

Maxine pushed her hair back behind her ear. “Just a little.”

“For Dad?”

“Don’t be silly.”

Oh, sure. Dad wanted his long-haired sixties babe back.

She changed the subject. “You know Cat’s not coming tomorrow? She hasn’t seen Maddie now for weeks, months even. I understand, but—”

“But you don’t.”

“No, I don’t at all! Her own niece’s birthday party. I told her that Maddie has been asking for her!”

That was the part she found inconceivable. It broke her heart to see Maddie’s head pop up hopefully when the doorbell rang. “My Cat?”

“A miscarriage and a marriage breakup in the space of a few weeks is a lot to handle. She adores Maddie. You know that.”

“I know.” Lyn scratched irritably at her neck and wondered if she was coming down with the flu. Her whole body felt like it had been rubbed with sandpaper.

“Cat seems to think she’s lost her chance of having children,” said Maxine. “I think it genuinely hurts her to see Maddie.”

“She’s being overdramatic,” said Lyn. “She’s young enough to meet someone new and still have children. What’s she going to do? Avoid Maddie for the rest of her life?”

Maxine raised her eyebrows. “Lyn. She deserves a little slack right now.”

Lyn dotted M&M’s around the Teletubby’s head and thought, Well, I’ve been giving Cat slack her whole life. Just because you’ve suddenly turned into Doris Day.

She wondered whether her mother would disapprove if she knew she was trying to get pregnant again. Michael had convinced her that three months after Cat’s miscarriage was a long enough waiting period.

She’d agreed but with conflicting emotions. Besides feeling guilty about Cat, she sometimes wondered if she really did want another baby. How could her already overcrammed life cope?

Then she remembered the wonder of a wrinkly, wise little face, miniature fingernails, that exquisite clean-baby smell. And then she remembered cracked ni**les, bleary-eyed 3-A.M. feeds, and the earsplitting scream of a baby who has been fed, changed, and burped and should therefore have no reason to cry.

Oh, it was all so simple for Michael!