Alice looked at George and Mildred, back in their old places, guarding the house. It had been an exhausting effort, cleaning them up, and then she’d had to use a wheelbarrow to get them out to the front of the house. Now she couldn’t decide if they looked quirky and fun, or grubby and tacky. “I just thought I’d drop by on the off chance you felt like some company,” he said. “If you’re too busy planning for tomorrow . . .”

Alice hadn’t been doing anything, except lying on the couch, staring at the ceiling, and thinking vague thoughts about Elisabeth’s baby, and Nick: “trying again.” Nick seemed to think they should start out with a “date.” “Maybe a movie,” he’d said, and Alice had wondered how hard they would have to “try” as they sat in the movie. Would they have to eat their popcorn really enthusiastically? Have an especially animated conversation afterward? Score each other on how many times they’d been funny, their levels of affection? Would they have to try to kiss as romantically as possible? No, she didn’t want any of this “trying.” She just wanted Nick to move back home and for everything to be the way it should be. She was tired of all this nonsense.

It had been an exhausting day. All the children had sports, one after the other. Olivia played netball (lots of histrionic leaping about but not much actual contact with the ball), Tom played soccer (excellently—scored two goals!), and Madison played hockey (abysmally, miserably). “Do you enjoy it?” Alice had asked her as she came off the field. “You know I hate it,” Madison had answered. “So why do you play it?” “Because you say I have to play a team sport,” she’d answered. Alice had gone straight up to the coach and pulled Madison from the team. Both the coach and Madison were thrilled.

Alice had various duties at each game that she had somehow fulfilled smoothly, almost as if she wasn’t an impostor in her own life. She’d kept score at Madison’s hockey game. She’d helped cook the sausage sizzle at Tom’s soccer game. Incredibly, she’d even umpired Olivia’s netball. Someone had handed her a whistle, and even as Alice was saying, “No, no, I couldn’t possibly,” the cool shape of the whistle felt right in her hand. Next thing she was striding up and down the sideline, blowing sharply on the whistle, while strange words and phrases flew from her mouth. “Step!” “Held ball!” “Goal attack, you were off side.” The children obeyed without question.

Nick had been there at all the games. There had been no time to talk. He had duties, too. He had to be the referee for Tom’s soccer game. We’re such parents, Alice had thought with a mixture of pride and fear—because, was that the problem? Was that why they would have to “try”? Because she was a “mum” and he was a “dad,” and mums and dads were generic, boring, and not very sexy. (That’s why kissing still went on in laundries at parties? To remind them that they were once randy teenagers?)

Tomorrow was Mother’s Day. Mega Meringue Day. The “big day.” Probably Alice should have been preparing things—finishing off paperwork, making last-minute phone calls to check people had done what they were meant to do, but she wasn’t especially interested in Mega Meringue Day. Anyway, the committee had seemed to have things under control the other day.

“Come in,” she said to Dominick, her eyes on the chocolate biscuits.

“The children asleep?” he asked.

“Yes, although—” She was about to say something lighthearted about Tom probably still playing with his Nintendo under the covers, but the haircutting experience with Madison made her stop. It would be like ratting on her son to the school principal.

“How was Kate about Chloe’s hair?” she asked.

“Predictably hysterical,” said Dominick.

“I left a message apologizing,” said Alice. “She never called back.”

“You understand that I didn’t have any choice but to suspend Madison?” said Dominick, as Alice took the flowers out of his hands. “I didn’t want . . .”

“Oh, yes, of course, don’t worry about it. These are beautiful, by the way. Thank you.”

Dominick put down the biscuits on the counter and twisted the bottle of liqueur around and around in his hands.

He said, “I’ll know when you get your memory back.”

“How?” said Alice.

“By the way you look at me. Now you have this friendly, polite way of looking at me, as if you don’t really know me, as if we never even . . .”

Oh God, little Chloe Harper was right. They had “done sex.”

He put down the bottle of liqueur and moved closer to her.

No, no, no. Not another kiss. That would be wrong. That would not be within the spirit of “trying.”

“Dominick,” she said.

The doorbell rang.

“Excuse me,” said Alice.

It was Nick at the front door.

He was holding a bottle of wine, cheese, biscuits, and a bunch of tulips identical to the ones Dominick had brought over. They must be on special at some local shop.

“You’ve fixed the lions,” said Nick, delighted. He bent down and patted George on the head. “Gidday, old mate.”

“I should be going.” Dominick had come to the front door. Alice saw his gaze take in the flowers and wine.

“Oh, hi.” Nick straightened, his smile disappearing. “I didn’t realize, I won’t stop—”