“We’re extremely excited to have Zora,” Anne said.
“Yes,” Coralie said. “Exactly!”
•••
Daniel baked theleftover pasta and lentil Bolognese with béchamel.
“Isn’t it awful about the bushfires?” Sally said halfway through dinner.
Under the table, Coralie crossed her fingers, hoping that would be the end of it.
“Five million hectares,” Anne said. “Nine people dead.”
Coralie’s Instagram had been full of Australian friends wearing surgical masks to go to work. The smoke was so bad you couldn’t see the Sydney Harbour Bridge. In Canberra, Elspeth couldn’t sleep—during the bushfires of 2003, her childhood horse had died in its stable, trapped. Sometimes Coralie thought of koalas, stuck in burning trees. She thought of a giant scoreboard, measuring parts per million of atmospheric carbon dioxide. What would Maxi’s life be like? Would Australia even exist? “Climate Change and the End of Australia”: There’d been a piece about it inRolling Stone. “Yes…” She trailed off. “Not good.”
“All that smoke is like a packet of cigarettes a day,” Anne said. “For the lungs. And you can see it in placentas. Climate change, of course.”
Everyone murmured their agreement.
“Still, you must miss it,” Sally said. “Australia. And will you two be FaceTiming your father tonight? It must be Christmas there already. Or areweahead? I can’t remember. Coralie, what does Florence call your dad?”
Coralie didn’t know what to say.
“Mr. Bower,” Zora joked.
“When I was a teenager,” Daniel said, “he made me call him sir.”
“Maybe we’ll FaceTime him?” Coralie looked at Daniel, who made a generous “go right ahead” gesture, implying that he, of course, would not.
“It’s somebody you know’s bedtime,” Adam said.
Florence was lying in his lap, her eyes half shut. She realized everyone was looking at her. “I want abribe.”
“She means a mince pie,” Coralie murmured.
“And I want aSally bath,” Flo said.
Sally got up immediately. “I mean—if it’s okay with you…”
Adam made the same gesture Daniel had made moments earlier. When Sally led Flo out by the hand, Zora became the child and laid her head on Adam’s shoulder.
“It’s nice to have you here,” Coralie said.
“Very nice,” Anne said.
How had Marina responded to Zora’s choice? Maybe the surname thing had taken out some of the sting. Coralie was glad not to be in that Range Rover, speeding Zora-less toward an awkward Sevenoaks Christmas. Of course, Marina had known Tom was a Conservative when they’d met; they’d joked about it at the wedding. But being a Tory back then was somehow different from being one now—or was it? It had always been pretty grim. Itwasnice to have Zora, but breaking long-held arrangements, with none in place for the future, was frightening. Did they want to be in a child custody dispute with two barristers? It seemed foolhardy.
As if he were reading Coralie’s thoughts, Adam cupped Zora’s chin. “The name stuff I don’t mind. But I would die if you didn’t want to see me anymore,” he said. “Zora? You always have to see me. Do you promise?”
“I promise,” Zora said.
•••
Anne sat backin her chair like a patriarch as Daniel and Adam cleared the dinner. Coralie fed Maxi at the table, self-conscious in front of Anne, not about her exposed breast (“I’ve seen it all before,” Anne grimly claimed) but about her habitual murmured endearments, and the baby’s smiles and laughs. “Maybe just let him get on with it,” Anne had once admonished. She often said that kind of thing, along with “You’re making a rod for your own back.”
“I might go up and read to Wrennie,” Zora said. “Cor, that’s your phone.”
In the middle of the table, Coralie’s screen was flashing with a video call. “Oh, it’s Roger,” Coralie said.
