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‘We’ll mourn the twin calf, but you’ve given us hope.’

‘I doubt Belle will have her calf before the end of the year, but as this is her first, it might be good to keep the cows in the small paddock at night. It’ll be easier to monitor her there.’

‘We’re so lucky to have someone with not only practical but theoretical experience.’ Benedict steeples his fingers. ‘I was an academic once. Ancient Rome.’

‘I look at pain and stress management in livestock.’ Another cramp, stronger than the first. I put the cup down before I drop it. ‘We had the temerity to lecture you about upsetting Belle,’

Benedict says. ‘I do apologise.’

‘We’ll have you to thank for our Christmas calf.’ Milly nods firmly. ‘I’ll pass that on to Rachael Sudgeon next time I see her.’

Benedict rolls his eyes. ‘Milly …’

The name clicks into place. ‘Mrs Sudgeon owns the motel, doesn’t she? What has she said?’

‘Nothing anyone will take any notice of,’ Milly says. ‘Karma will catch up with that woman.’

I gulp the last of my elderberry tea. ‘I’d better get going.’

‘You were a child when your parents left this town. How can she possibly hold anything against you?’

Keith Urban gallops ahead as Milly and Benedict introduce me to their menagerie. In addition to the ganders, there are ten merino sheep and an alpaca, chickens and a donkey called Eeyore. ‘The vet in Ballymore trusted us to care for him while she’s visiting her inlaws in Scotland,’ Milly says proudly.

Like their home, Milly and Benedict’s garden is eclectic, with statues and plaques representing many different faiths. ‘I was brought up Catholic,’ Milly says, ‘and Benedict was an atheist. We’ve given both those things up for a little bit of everything, including mother nature.’

‘We enjoy giving gifts at Christmas.’ Benedict smiles as I open the door of the ute and Keith Urban hops in. ‘What do you get up to at Christmas time?’

‘Nothing much.’

‘How do your family mark the occasion?’

Earlier this morning, Cameron asked about Christmas. Now this. ‘They’ve never celebrated it.’

‘At all?’ Milly asks.

‘My parents thought Christmas was a good time to drop leaflets in letterboxes. They were anti-consumerism, anti-tinsel, anti pretty much everything when it came to Christmas.’

When Milly’s mouth opens, I attempt a smile. ‘Sorry, I don’t know why I blurted that out.’

‘How long did this go on for?’

‘It was all I knew.’

‘You’ve never got over it, have you?’

I pretend I haven’t heard the question and climb behind the wheel. ‘Thanks for the callout. Let me know if there’s anything else I can do.’

Milly and Benedict wave as I drive away. Like my parents, they’re unconventional. Unlike my parents, they’re open-minded. When another cramp hits, my breath catches and I clench my teeth.

This time tomorrow, I’m supposed to be at Julia’s house for morning tea. I shouldn’t have accepted her invitation.

Chapter 8

Hi Julia. I’m sorry, but a client has called, and I can’t make it this morning. Hopefully catch up soon.

Amelie

After leaving Milly and Benedict’s hobby farm yesterday, I made house calls on a Pekinese with eczema, an obese labrador who’d eaten snail bait and a sheep with a nasty abscess in his thigh, all while breathing through the knife in my gut. The first time I menstruated, I was fourteen. Fourteen years later, my cycle is the same. In the middle of the month when I ovulate, I’m in pain for twenty-four to thirty-six hours. After that, I’m fine.