“I know.” Jem drew up her knees and wrapped her arms around them. “Logically, I know that, but you were there because of me, and this stuff happens to me all the time. Jesus, look what’s happening to us now. I don’t have any luck, none at all. Girlfriends disappear on me, and dates ditch me, and I get bad job after bad job at work. Even the calls that sound simple turn out to be something awful.” She held Rosie’s gaze, willing her to take this seriously. “It’s exhausting. Every time I sign on, I know what’s coming. I should probably just resign. Maybe then it would stop, and all the patients I might have been sent to would be okay.”

“Do you really believe that?” Rosie asked. She shifted slightly, grimacing at the discomfort. “That it would stop if you weren’t there?”

Jem wasn’t able to answer that, not with any degree of assurance. She had gone so far as to write her resignation letter, though. It was saved on her computer desktop for the day she finally snapped.

“I’m not sure what I believe,” she said, although that wasn’t strictly true. She had a theory, at least. She’d just never had the guts to voice it. “I think I used all my luck up when I was little.”

“What? You mean when you were adopted?” Rosie said, easily following her logic.

“Yes.” Jem wiped her eyes, bringing Rosie back into focus. “Perhaps you only get so much, and all of mine has gone.”

Rosie held out her hand until Jem took it. “What if I said that meeting you in that puddle on Barton was the luckiest thing that’s ever happened to me?”

“It can’t be,” Jem sobbed. “You can’t say that, Rosie. It isn’t fair.”

“It’s the truth. I’m not scared of you.”

Jem shook her head, utterly undone. “You should be. I’m scared of me.”

Rosie adjusted her grip, interlacing their fingers. “You give yourself too much credit, Jemima Pardon. I’m quite capable of getting in a shitload of trouble regardless of your influence. You don’t get to claim ownership of this particular fuck-up.” She smiled, warming to her theme when Jem made no attempt to contradict her. “Hey, my stupid dumb luck might cancel out yours and reset the clock, or rejig the scales or whatever. You delivered a baby today, didn’t you?”

“Little boy,” Jem said. “He was breech.”

“And?” Rosie squeezed Jem’s hand.

“He came out kicking and screaming,” Jem admitted, but she was starting to smile as well. “Actually, now you mention it, I had a chap survive an aneurysm last week, and the missing drugs thing all got sorted, too.”

“See?” Rosie said. “We’re already on a roll. What did we call that thingummy on the bridge? A talisman? We’re lucky talismans for each other.”