She helped me up off the footpath and took me to her car and strapped me into the passenger seat.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she said.

I said I didn’t.

“Where do you want to go?” she said.

I said I didn’t know.

Then she did exactly the right thing and drove me to Frannie. We sat on Frannie’s tiny balcony, drinking tea and eating buttered arrowroot biscuits, and we didn’t talk about what had happened.

In fact, we talked about something quite interesting. I could see some new stationery on Frannie’s desk, and it prompted me to ask her about the time I found her writing a mysterious letter when I was a teenager. I told her that Alice and I had been convinced that she had a secret lover.

Frannie didn’t look embarrassed, just dismissive. She waved her hand impatiently as if it wasn’t an important subject. She said she had once been briefly engaged when she was in her late thirties, and she still wrote occasionally to her ex-fiancé, and she probably just hadn’t wanted to talk about it at the time.

“So you’re still friends?” said Alice, all agog.

“I guess you could say that,” Frannie had said. There was a peculiar quizzical expression on her face.

“And he writes back?” I asked.

And she said, “Well, no.”

So that was odd. And it seemed like she was about to say more but then we had to rush off because Alice had to pick up the children from school, so I never got to hear more about this man, this “Phil” who never answers her letters. Did she leave him at the altar all those years ago? Why has she never mentioned him before?

I’ve been meaning to call Frannie to ask her about it, but I haven’t even got the energy to be nosy these days. Also I’ve been avoiding her because I know she thinks I should stop trying to have a baby. She said it at least two years ago. She said that sometimes you had to be brave enough to “point your life in a new direction.” I was a bit snappy at the time. I said a baby wasn’t a “direction.” Besides which, as far as I can see, she never pointed her life in a new direction. We just fell into her life after Dad died.

Thank goodness we did, of course. And who knows, maybe there will be a convenient death in our local area! Think positive! That father two doors down always looks like he’s about to drop dead when he mows the lawn.

Anyway, the day after my psychotic episode I went to my GP and asked for a referral to see a good psychiatrist. I wonder if you pay her a spotter’s fee.

So that’s how I came into your life, Jeremy.

When Alice walked into Dino’s Coffee Shop her senses were flooded with familiarity. The aroma of coffee and pastries. The rhythmic thud and hiss of the espresso machine.

“Alice, my love!” said a small, dark-haired man behind the counter. He was working the coffee machine with two hands, expertly and elegantly, as if it were a musical instrument. “I heard on the grapevine you had an accident! Lost your memory! But you never forget Dino, do you?”

“Well,” said Alice carefully, “I think I remember your coffee.”

Dino laughed as if she’d made a hilarious joke. “Of course you do, my love! Of course you do! I won’t be one moment. I know you’re in a hurry. Busy lady. Here you go.”

Without waiting for an order, he handed her a takeaway cup. “How you feeling, anyway? You all better? You remember everything? You ready for the big day on Sunday? Mega Meringue Day at last! My daughter is so excited! All she talks about is ‘Daddy, Daddy, this pie will be the biggest in the world! ’”

“Mmmm,” said Alice. She was assuming that by Sunday she would have her memory back, because she really had no idea how to bake the world’s biggest lemon pie.

She peeled off the lid of the cup and took a sip. Ewww. No sugar, and extremely strong. She took another sip. Actually very good. She didn’t need sugar. She took another sip, and another and another. She wanted to tip back her head and pour it straight down her throat. The caffeine was zipping through her veins, clearing her head, making her heart beat faster and her vision sharpen.

“Maybe you need two today?” chortled Dino.

“Maybe I do,” agreed Alice.

“How is your sister, by the way?” said Dino, still chuckling. He appeared to be a jolly fellow. He stopped and clicked his fingers. “Ah, my mind! I keep forgetting, my wife gave me something to give to her.”

“My sister?” Alice ran her finger around the edge of the cup and licked the froth while she wondered how well Dino knew Elisabeth. “She’s okay, I guess.” She is an entirely different person. She appears to be desperately unhappy. I’m not sure how I’ve wronged her.

“I went home and told my wife the whole story, about how this lady walks off with a child, and then when she collapsed like that, crying, and none of us knew what to do! I was making her coffee! That’s no help, is it? Even Dino’s coffee! Those stupid women wanting to call the police.”

Good Lord. Had Elisabeth tried to kidnap a child? Alice felt pity (Her poor darling Elisabeth, how bad must she be feeling to so publicly break a rule!), a horrified shame (How embarrassing! How illegal!) and guilt (How could she be worried about what people thought when her sister was obviously suffering so badly?).

Dino continued, “I said to those women, ‘No harm done!’ It was so lucky you showed up and made them see sense, and when you told me her story, so sad! Anyway, my wife gave me this. It’s an African fertility figurine. If you have one of these dolls, you give birth to a beautiful baby. That’s the legend.”