“Finally, the man believes me,” she’d joked. “I promise you, this is the perfect solution for everyone.” But after the previous day’s events, she was no longer prepared to let Nick run things. When she dropped him off a street away from the marina, she’d said, “I’ll call Libby this afternoon.”

Now at home in her kitchen, Jess belted out the final chorus to “We Are The Champions” and hugged herself. Not only was she finally entering the property market, she was staking a legal claim in the Hunter-Pirellis’ lives—a partnership. It would give her and Leo one type of security she craved and the rest would follow.

Excited, she grabbed some paper and doodled house plans. Unlike this small 1930’s clapboard with its tiny windows and dark rooms, she sketched a large, light-filled open-plan living space that would face the water. It wasn’t dissimilar in design to Burrunan but Jess planned an outdoor kitchen and a dedicated office. Lucy and Indi would need their own rooms too so they could come and go freely between the two houses like their father and their brother.

Lost in a daydream of creating her utopia in a modern, sprawling home devoid of cockroaches and black mold, Jess startled at the sound of a car braking hard on gravel. She rose to look out the window and saw an ashen-faced Libby getting out of the car. It wasn’t the first time Libby had arrived on her doorstep looking like this and it meant only one thing.

Genuine disappointment filled her and she opened the door and her arms. “Oh, shit. You’ve got your period. I’m sorry, Lib.”

Libby brought her elbows up, knocking Jess’s arms aside. “I don’t think you’re sorry one little bit.”

The action and accusation stung. Jess had spent hours listening to Libby’s pain and sadness over losing Dom and her failure to conceive again. “Of course I am. I know how gutted you are every time you get your period. Sit down and I’ll make tea.”

“I don’t want a bloody cup of tea.”

It didn’t happen often, but occasionally Libby’s practical and scientific mind went into full-on drama queen mode. It was usually connected to the girls and to a lesser extent Nick when he’d dropped the ball and wasn’t world’s best husband, but today it was the disappointment she wasn’t pregnant. When this version of Libby appeared, experience had taught Jess it was best just to let her vent.

“Coffee then? It’s a bit early for a drink. Don’t want to be the stereotypical single mother who has her kid in the car and gets nailed for being over the legal limit,” she said.

“Nothing about you comes close to being a stereotype.”