“Abigail probably doesn’t need to go to basketball training anymore,” she said to Ed as they got out of the car with their take-out coffees. After they’d dropped the children off they’d zipped down to Blue Blues, where Tom was doing a roaring trade from all the Pirriwee Public parents in need of caffeine to get through a recorder performance at the assembly. “Maybe Nathan is coaching her now.”

Ed chuckled warily, probably worried she was about to launch into another rant about the cancellation of the math tutor. Her husband was a patient man, but she had noticed a glazed look on his face as she’d talked, admittedly for quite a long time, about Abigail’s difficulty with algebra and the fact that Nathan had never been there to help Abigail with her math homework and therefore had no idea how outrageously bad she was at it, and yes it was true that Nathan had always been good at math, but that didn’t mean he could teach it, and so on and so forth.

“Joy e-mailed this morning,” said Ed as he locked the car. Joy was the editor of the local paper. “She wants me to do a piece on what’s going on at the school.”

“What? The trivia night?” said Madeline disinterestedly. Ed often wrote short articles about school fund-raising events for the local paper. She could see Perry and Celeste crossing the street to go into the school. They were holding hands, loved-up gorgeous couple that they were, Perry walking slightly ahead, as if he were protecting Celeste from the traffic.

“No,” said Ed carefully. “The bullying. The petition. Joy says ‘bullying’ is one of those hot-button issues.”

“You can’t write about that!” Madeline stopped abruptly in the middle of the road.

“Get out of the road, you bloody idiot.” Ed grabbed her elbow as a car came whizzing up from the beach. “One day I’m going to be writing a story about a tragedy on this road.”

“Don’t write it, Ed,” said Madeline. “That’s so bad for the school’s reputation.”

“I am still a journalist, you know,” said Ed.

It had been three years since Ed had given up a stressful, high-grade job with longer hours and much better pay at the Australian so that Madeline could go back to work and the two of them could evenly share parenting duties, and he’d never once complained about the intrinsically sedate nature of work at a local paper, cheerfully going off to surf carnivals and fetes and one-hundred-year birthday celebrations at the local nursing home. (The sea air seemed to preserve its residents.) This was the first time he’d ever hinted at the possibility that he wasn’t entirely satisfied.

“It’s a valid story,” said Ed.

“It’s not a valid story!” said Madeline. “You know it’s not a valid story!”

“What’s not a valid story? Gidday, Ed. Madeline, nice to see you.” They had caught up with Perry and Celeste. Perry was in a beautifully cut suit and tie; bespoke, Italian, worth more than Ed’s entire wardrobe, Madeline guessed, including the wardrobe. She managed to caress the silky fabric of his sleeve with her fingertips as Perry leaned over to kiss her and she breathed in the scent of his aftershave.

She wondered what it would be like to be married to a man who dressed so well. If it were Madeline, she would take such pleasure in all those lovely textures and colors, the softness of the ties, the crispness of the shirts. Of course, Celeste, who didn’t have much interest in clothes, probably didn’t even register the difference between Perry and rumpled, unshaven Ed, with his old musty-smelling, olive-green fleece over his T-shirt. Watching Ed and Perry talk, though, she felt an unexpected surge of affection for Ed, even though she’d just that minute been feeling aggravated with him. It was something to do with the open, interested way he listened to Perry, and his graying, stubbled chin, in contrast with Perry’s shiny-smooth jaw.

Yes. She’d much rather kiss Ed. So that was lucky.

“Are we late? We dropped the boys off first at kiss-and-drop because there was no parking,” said Celeste in her flustered, worried way. “The boys are so excited about Perry being here to see them perform this poem.”

“We’re not late,” said Madeline. She wondered if Celeste had said anything to Perry yet about his cousin possibly being Ziggy’s father. She would have told Ed by now.

“Have you seen Jane?” asked Celeste, as if she’d read her mind.

Perry and Ed had walked ahead of them.

“Have you told him . . . ?” Madeline lowered her voice and inclined her head at Perry’s back.

“No!” hissed Celeste. She looked almost terrified.

“Anyway, Jane isn’t here,” said Madeline. “Remember, she’s got the thing with the thing.” Celeste looked blank. Madeline lowered her voice. “You know. The appointment.” Jane had sworn them to secrecy about the appointment she’d made for Ziggy to see the psychologist. “If people hear I’m taking him to a psychologist, they’ll think it’s proof that he’s doing something wrong.”

“Oh yes, of course.” Celeste tapped a finger to her forehead. “I forgot.”

Perry slowed down so that Madeline and Celeste could catch up with them.

“So Ed has just been telling me about this bullying controversy,” said Perry. “Is this Renata Klein’s daughter? The poor little girl who is being bullied?” He said to Madeline, “I sort of know Renata through work.”

“Really?” said Madeline, although she already knew this from Celeste; it always seemed a safer policy not to let husbands know just how much information their wives shared.