She needed to talk to Josh; she’d decided to tell him about the interview after all. Tara had gone over and over it in her head. She was happy to give her opinion on her blog but, fuck-a-duck, she hadn’t meant to implicate Lexie nationally, on prime-time TV. It was the reporter’s fault; she’d tricked Tara into it by being so friendly. She’d coerced her.

Tara knelt down on the floor and picked up the teabags, shaking each one slightly to dislodge the dust. The floor was a fucking disgrace. What was Daisy was putting into her mouth when she was crawling around here? A wrinkled pea, a plastic bread tag, a muesli bar wrapper, some old lump of food spilt from above. I’m a fucking disgrace of a housewife. Can’t even keep the kitchen clean.

How embarrassing. Had her mother-in-law noticed yesterday when she’d been minding the kids? When Tara was working, she’d have even less time for this domestic shit. Being at Rydges yesterday, Tara had felt like a grown-up again, someone important—not a slave to small human beings, not a slave to housework. Josh would have to ask his mother to clean the house while Pam was babysitting next year.

Would Josh have rung Pam from Adelaide today, perhaps mentioned where he was staying? Did Tara dare to ask her? Her mother-in-law already thought Tara was a dumbhead; this would confirm it.

Where are you, Joshie? I’m so scared. I want to feel safe in your arms.

She heard the theme music to the Weekend Wrap and hurried out of the kitchen with her mug of peppermint tea. Sitting bolt upright on the couch in front of the telly, Tara wondered how she’d come across on-screen. Thank fuck no-one would recognise her. The excitement and the dread twisted inside her again; hopefully she wouldn’t need to shit before the first commercial break.

For ten minutes, the program showed old footage of the first baby and Marty entering the North Shore Hospital in Sydney where he used to work. In one shot, right-to-lifers were protesting outside the front of the hospital while Lexie pushed her way through the crowd, a newborn in her arms—that must have been Bella.

Last night, when Lexie had burst into tears on the phone, Tara almost confessed.

I’m doing this for Bella. She’d justified it to Lexie in her mind. Someone needs to speak up for that poor little girl. And I’m doing it for our community, to make it safe again.

The thrill that Tara had expected to feel when she saw herself on TV lasted for precisely ten seconds. Even in the dark, she looked fat and sounded like a whiny teenager. Her voice was so nasal; did she need sinus surgery to clear a blockage?