‘Where is my fairy brother? Is he in heaven with Rascal?’

‘I’m sure they’re playing together right now.’

It was an image which made me smile: Archie playing with Bella’s bunny rabbit. He would have loved the soft touch of her fur. One afternoon, a few months ago, Bella and I had gone to lock Rascal back in his hutch but we’d been too late. Even though it was only four thirty, the fox had come. I assumed it was a fox or a wild dog. Rascal’s head was gone, his neck a mess of blood and sinew.

‘Did Archie’s head come off too?’

My fingers shook and the flour spilt onto the floor.

‘No, darling.’

‘But why did he die if he has a head?’

‘It was his inside organs—the ones that keep our bodies going.’ I tried to explain in a way she would understand. ‘The lungs that help us breathe; the heart that pumps our blood.’

She took the wooden spoon from me and stood up on her stool. The stool wobbled and I grabbed it, grabbed her and held her tight.

‘When will I die?’ she asked. ‘Am I next?’

‘Oh Tinker Bell, you won’t die until you’re very, very, very old.’

‘How old?’

Maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned Archie; I wasn’t feeling strong enough for this. I tried to distract her.

‘Shall we decorate the cake with hundreds and thousands?’

‘Mummy!’ That determined face looked up at me. ‘HOW OLD?’

‘One hundred and—’

At that moment, Bella had spotted Deirdre in the back garden.

‘Deedee! I want to see Deedee.’

I’d forgotten she was coming today, of all days. A fork in one hand, wearing green overalls, a smiling face crowned by cropped white hair. Cheerful and weather-beaten. I could imagine her on TV presenting a gardening show, she was so down to earth. Ha, ‘down to earth’: I’d have to remember that pun for Marty.

While Bella went outside to the garden, I popped the cake in the oven. As I was putting away the flour and cocoa, my hand brushed against the red wine. Ignore it. Instead, I switched on the TV. The news was on. Before I could change it to ABC Kids, the report cut to an interview. Nurse Natalie.

‘Life is sacred—all life. It is not up to the medical profession to decide who should die. That’s legalised murder. We will be at Parliament House next week, fighting against this legislation as if our lives depended on it—as well they might.’