“Dad wouldn’t be ignoring you,” said Alice, and her father’s face was suddenly clear in her mind. So often she could only remember the face that appeared in photos, not the face from her own memory. “Maybe he’s got to deal with a lot of bureaucrats in Heaven.”

“I don’t think I believe in life after death anyway,” said Elisabeth. “I used to have all these romantic ideas about Dad taking care of my lost babies, but then it got out of hand. He’d be running a whole bloody day care center.”

“At least it would take his mind off the sight of Mum and Roger salsa-dancing,” said Alice.

This time Elisabeth definitely smiled.

She said, “Mum remembers all my due dates. She calls first thing in the morning and chats, doesn’t say anything about the date, just chats away.”

“She seems good with the children,” said Alice. “They adore her.”

“She’s a good grandma,” sighed Elisabeth.

“I guess we’ve forgiven her,” said Alice.

Elisabeth turned to look at her sharply, but she didn’t say “Forgiven her for what?”

It was something they’d never really talked about (well, as far as Alice knew they’d never talked about it); the way Barb had stopped being a mother after their dad died. She’d just given up. It had been shocking. Overnight, she became a mother who couldn’t care less if they left the house without warm clothes, or if they cleaned their teeth, or if they ate vegetables—and did that mean she’d only been pretending to care before? Even months afterward, she just wanted to drift around all day, holding their hands while she cried over photo albums. That’s when Frannie had stepped in and given their lives structure and rules again.

Alice and Elisabeth had stopped thinking of Barb as their mother and more as a slightly simple older sister. Even when she eventually recovered and started trying to exert her authority, they didn’t really let her be the mother again. It was a subtle but definite form of revenge.

“Yes,” said Elisabeth after a while. “I guess we did eventually forgive her. I don’t know when exactly, but we did.”

“It’s strange how things work out.”

“Yes.”

They watched an ad for a carpet sale, and Elisabeth spoke again. “I feel really angry. I can’t tell you how angry I feel.”

“Okay,” said Alice.

More silence.

“We’ve wasted the last seven years trying to create a life for ourselves, just a standard suburban life with two-point-one kids. That’s all we’ve been doing—we haven’t been actually living—and now this will put everything on hold for a few months longer until I lose it, and then I’ll have to get over that, and then Ben will be at me to fill in the adoption papers, and everybody will be all enthusiastic and supportive. ‘Oh, yes, adoption, how lovely, how multicultural!’ And they’ll expect me to forget this baby.”

“You might not lose it,” said Alice. “You might actually have this baby.”

“Of course I’m going to lose it.”

The cooking show host drizzled honey into a pan. “You must use nonsalt butter. That’s the secret.”

Elisabeth said, “All I need to do is pretend I’m not pregnant, so that if I lose it, it won’t hurt so much, but I can’t seem to do that. And then I think, Okay, just be hopeful! Assume it will work. But then every moment I’m scared. Every time I go to the bathroom I’m scared of seeing the blood. Every time I go for an ultrasound I’m scared of seeing their faces change. You’re not meant to worry, because stress is bad for the baby, but how can I not worry?”

“Maybe you could delegate the worrying to me,” said Alice. “I could worry all day long for you! I’m an excellent worrier, you know that.”

Elisabeth smiled and looked back at the television. The cooking show host pulled something out of the oven and sniffed rapturously. “Voilà!”

Elisabeth said, “I should have driven over straightaway when Gina died, and I didn’t. I’m sorry.”

How strange, thought Alice. Everyone had to apologize for something to do with Gina’s death.

“Why didn’t you?”

“I didn’t know if you’d want me there,” said Elisabeth. “I felt as if I’d say the wrong thing. You and Gina were such a pair, and you and I, we’ve . . . drifted.”

Alice moved closer to Elisabeth, so their thighs were touching. “Well, let’s drift back.”

The credits were rolling on the cooking show.

“I’m going to lose this baby,” said Elisabeth.

Alice put a hand over onto Elisabeth’s stomach.

“I’m going to lose this baby,” said Elisabeth again.

Alice put her face down close. She said, “Come on, little niece or nephew. Why don’t you just stick around this time? Your mum has been through so much for you.”

Elisabeth picked up the remote, turned off the television, and began to cry.

Frannie’s Letter to Phil He kissed me. Mr. Mustache, I mean. Xavier. In the backseat of a cab.

And I kissed him back.

You could knock me down with a feather, Phil.

“I like the lions,” said Dominick.

It was nine o’clock at night and he was standing at the front door, holding a packet of chocolate biscuits, a bottle of liqueur, and a bunch of tulips. He was wearing jeans and a faded checked shirt, and he needed a shave.