I don’t even have the right stuff for myself, thought Gemma. I don’t have a fridge. I don’t have a job. I don’t have a boyfriend. I don’t concentrate!

“Yes.” Gemma stood up. There were a lot of people in the waiting room. “Thank you.”

The doctor looked up at her. “Adoption is always an alternative, if your circumstances really are such that you can’t have a baby.”

“My circumstances really are such,” said Gemma. I don’t have any circumstances!

“I can give you some information.”

“Actually, that’s O.K.,” she said, because she already knew who would be adopting her baby.

“Don’t be so stupid!” said Cat, who seemed a little doubtful that Gemma was pregnant at all. She kept asking if she was quite sure, as if Gemma might have misheard the doctor’s diagnosis. “I can’t adopt your baby. You’ll be fine. Everybody will help you. Mum. Lyn. Me. You’ll be fine. It’s just the shock. Every new mother feels nervous.”

She was adamant. Gemma pleaded and cajoled, to no avail.

It was only when Gemma put her elbows on the table, her head in her hands, and began to cry that Cat finally said, “O.K., O.K., I’ll think about it!”

She brought her a cup of tea and sat there looking at her doubtfully, carefully. “You seriously don’t want to be a mother? You seriously don’t want this baby?”

There was a wrench of longing in her voice.

“Seriously,” said Gemma. “Really! And you would make a wonderful mother. And we’re triplets! The baby is practically yours anyway.”

“But you’re not just suggesting this to make me happy, are you?”

“No. I can’t have a baby and I don’t want to have an abortion.”

She didn’t, because already she adored the baby. Cat’s little boy or girl, another little niece or nephew. Of course she adored it.

Everything was going to be O.K.

It was a win-win.

Lyn wouldn’t stop talking about Charlie.

“You only met him once,” said Gemma. “I don’t know why you care so much.”

“I just think he’s the sort of guy who would want to know he was having a baby.”

“You’re just saying that because he saved Maddie’s feet from the glass. As if that demonstrated his paternal instincts!”

“I’m saying it because you have a moral obligation to tell him!”

“What if he wants to be involved with the baby? That won’t work. Cat won’t want that.”

“I thought you cared about Charlie.”

“I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

Much to Maddie’s amusement, Lyn picked up a cushion from the lounge, held it to her face, and head-butted it.

Gemma tried not to think about Charlie during the day, but it felt like she spent every night with him.

Her dreams became garishly colored horror films. They were very vivid, very long, and they all featured Charlie.

Dream-Charlie was not a nice man.

One night he stabbed her, right in the stomach, with the end of a ski pole. Gemma looked down and saw bright splatters of her own blood blossoming on freshly fallen snow. “Here it is!” Charlie plunged his hands into her stomach and triumphantly dragged out a baby. The baby was Maddie, in her blue denim overalls and covered in entrails and bloody mush. She grinned at Gemma and held out her palm for Around and Around the Garden. “Fucking nice, Gemma!” yelled Charlie. “You knew we were going snorkeling!” and he skied off with Maddie on his hip. Gemma tried to run after him but her legs were buried in the snow and she couldn’t move. “Lyn’s going to be really mad at you!” cried Cat, whooshing past on skis. Maxine came stalking across the snow in her high heels. “Retrace your steps, Gemma. Where did you last see Maddie? Think!”

With a tremendous effort, she wrenched herself out of the dream, and her eyelids fluttered open.

Was that a giant splotch of spreading blood on the sheets? Was she losing the baby? With trembling hands, she turned on the lamp and the blood vanished. It was just a white sheet.

She remembered that time with Charlie, when she dreamed she left the baby in the drawer. “Come back to bed, you fruitcake,” he’d said. “We don’t have a baby.”

He’d been so lovely to her. Look at him now, she thought sadly, stabbing her with a ski pole.

“Is it money?” asked Lyn one day. “Do you think you can’t afford to bring up a child?”

“Yes, that’s right,” said Gemma. “I’m a humble serving wench who can’t afford to keep my own child, so I’m giving it to the lady of the manor. Oh, m’lady, if you only knew what I’d been through!”

“Shut up. Dad said you were making a lot on the stock market.”

“Well, I was showing off a bit for Dad’s benefit.”

“But you do invest in the stock market? How did you ever get into that?”

“I got some money when Marcus died. I didn’t know what to do with it. Mum wanted me to see a financial adviser. Then, I read a story about how a blindfolded monkey throwing darts did just as well at picking stocks as a professional. So, I got the list of stocks in the newspaper, closed my eyes, and pointed.”

“Gemma!”

“The next week that company made a big profit announcement and the shares went up by two hundred percent. I nearly fainted when I saw it in the paper. It was so exciting! I was hooked.”