Late afternoon, the crews were waiting outside Royal Women’s Hospital as Brooke Lester was discharged. She came out the main glass doors in a wheelchair with the baby cradled in her lap, swaddled in a blanket covered in pink elephants. A nurse was pushing the wheelchair while Brooke’s mother, Trish, walked alongside, her arms loaded with bunches of flowers and a bundle of pastel gifts.

Brooke kept her head tilted down, cooing at the baby and avoiding the glassy gaze of the camera lenses. But then she lifted her head to say something to her mother and she beamed a smile. Seeing that young woman smile, Anita made a small involuntary sound in her throat—relief, gladness, whatever.

A white Corolla pulled up in the hospital pick-up zone and Rob Lester hopped out of the driver’s seat. Trish put the flowers and other items in the boot, then carefully lifted the baby from Brooke’s arms and into the newborn car capsule. Meanwhile, Rob ran around the vehicle to help his daughter hoist herself out of the wheelchair. He held Brooke’s arm steady as she took cautious post-caesarean steps to the car and lowered herself gingerly onto the back seat next to the baby.

Rob Lester raised his hand, palm open and flat, in acknowledgement of the camera crews. He didn’t appear annoyed—in fact, the man was grinning—but he was tacitly requesting privacy.

Anita sent Paula a text.

Hello, lady. Did you see the news? A xx

Yes. I saw. P xx

Good to know Brooke and baby are with her parents. Safe.

Definitely.

Anita was aware that she hadn’t seen her friend for almost a week—too long—so a few minutes later, she texted again.

I could make a late movie session tonight?? A x

Yes please.

Anita pushed on with work until late, leaving her with no time to eat dinner before the eight forty-five p.m. movie session. As she hurried up the stairs into the Norton Street cinemas, there was no sign of Paula, so she jumped in the queue at the bar to buy the biggest glass of wine they sold plus a bag of cashews that would have to do as an evening meal.

Anita scanned the crowded foyer looking for her friend.

A woman she didn’t know was raising her hand—I’m over here—but must’ve been signalling someone else.

It took Anita’s brain a couple of seconds to process what she’d seen, then she whipped her head back to see the waving woman was in fact Paula. With blonde hair.

Paula was grinning, pointing at her newly bleached curls, loose around her shoulders. As they walked towards each other, zigzagging through the crowd, Anita did a pantomime of being surprised and dazzled by Paula’s glamour.

Paula laughed. ‘Your mouth’s hanging open.’

‘It looks great,’ said Anita.