Her eyes strayed to the email she’d received over a week ago, the subject title, Access. The email she was yet to answer. Her anger surged as it did every time she thought about its contents. Nothing about it was conciliatory or cooperative. Nothing about it resembled the love and care that Libby had promised her when she’d begged her to leave Sydney and return to the bay. The love she and Leo had known during their first year. It had been the love Leo deserved and Jess desperately wanted him to know, because it was the opposite of her own childhood.

No, this email was a list of demands. Jess Dekic would do A, B and C, and Nick Pirelli would do D, E and F. Legal action would be taken if Jess did G, H, I or J. Third parties would be involved. Negotiation was off the table. It was Libby’s way or no way.

On top of Libby exposing Leo’s parentage to the town’s scrutiny, actively encouraging their friends to exclude Jess, and the vitriolic letter stripping her of the title and role of godmother to Indi and Lucy—who she loved like daughters—did she think Jess would just roll over and agree to the limited and unsatisfactory access arrangements? Did her former best friend think that because she decreed it, everyone would fall into line?

“Stuff this.” She dialed Libby’s number. She might have been blocked, meaning her texts were never delivered or her calls answered, but she could still leave voicemail.

“You told me you don’t want to have anything to do with Nick’s son. That means you gave up your right to dictate terms. Nick and I decide what’s best for Leo.”

Nick and I ...

Jess’s twenty-second summer had been a watershed. Libby was in Peru doing an elective as part of her medical degree. Without her company in the bay, Jess had planned to stay in Melbourne during her enforced work break between Christmas and New Year. Her mother had other ideas.

“I’m the only family you’ve got. You’d be a cruel bitch if you let your mother spend Christmas on her own.” Linda’s sharp words burned down the line before changing to wheedling. “I’ve already got the fruit soaking for the plum pudding.”

It was an annual tradition for Linda to soak the fruit in a cup of brandy and herself in the rest of the bottle. Over the years, Jess had thrown the fruit out after Christmas more times than a pudding had ever been made. As she listened to her mother, Jess glanced at the tiny live Christmas tree in a pot and the beautifully wrapped gift Libby had left underneath it with the instructions, “Don’t open it until Christmas morning.” The house suddenly seemed quiet and empty, as it would be on December 25th.