“Whoosh!” said Gemma, running her fingers down the curling funnel of the slide.

“I think you’d go faster than a car,” said Cat.

“Not faster than Daddy’s car,” said Lyn. “No, I don’t think so.”

“You would!” said Cat, pinching her hard on the leg with her fingernails. “Yes, you would!”

“Whoosh!” said Gemma again. She trailed her sundae spoon through the air. “You’d go this fast!”

“This water slide is in a special place called the Gold Coast,” said Dad. “And you know what?”

“What?”

“I’m going to take you there for the Christmas holidays!”

Well! The excitement! Gemma’s sundae spoon went flying in the air. Cat slammed both her hands triumphantly on the table. Their father smiled modestly and allowed his cheek to be kissed by each of them.

All the way home in the car they talked about it.

“I’m going to make myself go faster by pushing myself along,” said Lyn. “Like this with my hands.”

Cat said, “That won’t work. I’m going to put my hands out in front like this, like an arrow.”

Gemma said, “I’m going to do a special magic trick to make me go faster.”

“Stupid, stupid, stupid!” chanted Cat and Lyn.

When they got home, Dad came inside to tell Mummy about the holiday.

Lyn was in the kitchen getting a glass of water. So she was the only one to see their mother’s reaction.

She looked surprised, like Daddy had slapped her across her cheek. “But Christmas Day?” she said. “Can’t you take them on Boxing Day?”

“It’s the only time I can get away,” said Dad. “You know the pressure I’m under with the Paddington project.”

“I’d like to be with them on Christmas Day. I don’t see how one day can make such a difference.”

“I thought their welfare was your first priority. Your words, Max.”

“I’m not saying that they shouldn’t go, Frank.”

Lyn watched as Mummy’s eyes looked up to the ceiling. She took a deep breath as if she were going to do a gigantic sneeze, but then the sneeze didn’t come.

It was odd.

Lyn stared at her mother over the rim of her glass.

It looked almost as if she were trying not to cry. As soon as the thought came into her head, Lyn knew it was true. She felt something click and slide into place. There was her mum, her normal, annoying, bad-tempered mum, and fitted neatly over the top of her was a new version—a version who got upset just like her daughters did.

“I want to be with Mum on Christmas Day,” she said, and she had no idea why she said it because she didn’t want that at all; the words had tripped straight out of her mouth without her permission.

Her parents acted as if they hadn’t even realized she was in the kitchen. “Don’t be silly, Lyn,” said Mum. “You’re going on a lovely holiday with your father.”

Lyn looked at her father. “Why can’t we go after Christmas Day?”

He reached for her and pulled her onto his lap, smoothing his hand over the top of her head. “That’s the only time Daddy’s work will let him go, darling.”

Lyn ran her finger around the edge of his shirt button. “I don’t believe you.”

She wriggled off his lap as Cat and Gemma came running into the kitchen brandishing a Barbie doll’s dismembered limbs.

“Lyn wants to stay here with Mummy for Christmas,” said Dad. “What do you two want to do?”

Cat looked at Lyn as if she’d lost her mind. “Why are you being stupid?”

“Why can’t Mummy just come with us?” beamed Gemma.

“Mum and Dad are divorced, spastic-head,” said Cat. “That means they’re not allowed to do things together anymore. It’s a rule. It’s the law.”

“Oh.” Gemma’s lower lip trembled. “Oh, I see.”

“I’m going on holidays with Daddy,” said Cat.

“I’m staying here with Mum,” said Lyn. This was being pure and good, just like Sister Judith talked about in religion classes. Lyn could visualize her own shimmering sin-free soul. It was heart-shaped and sparkly like a diamond.

Tears of panic slid rapidly down Gemma’s face. “We have to be together when Santa comes!”

They weren’t together when Santa came.

Over the next week Lyn and Cat campaigned aggressively for Gemma to join their side. Underhand tactics were used on both sides.

“Mummy will be so sad if we don’t have Christmas here with her,” said Lyn. “She’ll cry and cry and cry.”

“She won’t,” said Gemma in alarm. “Mummy doesn’t cry. You won’t cry, will you, Mum?”

Mum was cross. “No, I certainly won’t, Gemma. Don’t be so silly, Lyn.”

“We’ll go on the fastest water slide in the whole world and Daddy will cry if you don’t come!” said Cat. “Won’t you, Dad?”

He sniffed loudly and pretended to wipe his eyes. “Oh yes.”

Lyn didn’t stand a chance.

The problem was it didn’t seem as if Maxine even noticed Lyn’s saintly behavior. She was just as cross and annoying as ever. After a while Lyn realized that she didn’t have a sparkly diamond for a soul at all. Deep down she felt angry with her mother, not pure and good and loving.

The thought of missing out on that water slide made her sick—but so did the thought of her mother sitting at the kitchen table with the tea towel over her shoulder.

So there you had it. She missed out on both the water slide and a gold star from Jesus.

That was the Christmas Lyn discovered the horrible pleasure of martyrdom.

Lyn knew she knew Angela as soon as she walked into the kitchen. She had the sort of face you remembered. Almond-shaped eyes. Exotic thick black hair. Caramel-colored skin.

Lyn’s mind jumped from Brekkie Bus circles to play-group circles to Michael’s work—to sitting in Cat’s car watching Angela tap on the car window, her face bent down, her ponytail falling to one side.

Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.

How had Gemma managed to orchestrate this disaster? Quietly, she maneuvered herself behind Cat and placed one protective hand over her shoulder. Had she recognized her yet?