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he had much longer term ambitions. So he didn’t come on to her at the party. He was polite and attentive, even charming he hoped, though it was never easy to get that right. He didn’t even have a drink, so he was one of the last men standing at the end of the night and could offer to drive Anna and her friendshome. When he saw where she lived he was even more determined. It was not simply that Toorak suggested her family had money, Mac knew he could make his own money. It was the kind of money it suggested. Old money bought respect, position, a certain status. People said Australia was a class-free society. When you came from the lower class, you knew better.
    So Mac did not make a pass at Anna at all that night. This was too important. The next day he sent flowers to her house, the right kind, the kind that cost him what he’d make in an eight-hour shift at the pub where he was still working until he took up his graduate position. He let another day pass and then he phoned. He said he would feel honoured if she would consider going out for dinner with him some time. Whenever Anna retold the story she would say that his formal, old-fashioned manner was quaint, it had intrigued her, and impressed her parents. Which was exactly what he’d counted on.
    Mac sighed heavily, resting one knee on the bed as he leaned forward and began to unbutton her blouse. Anna roused, blinking a couple of times and rubbing her eyes. She reached out and hooked her fingers around his belt, yanking him forward.
    â€˜Anna,’ he chided gently, resisting. He sat on the bed beside her. ‘Come on, you have to get out of these clothes.’
    â€˜Can we make love then?’ she murmured, raising her hand to stroke his hair. ‘We never make love any more.’
    â€˜Of course we do,’ he dismissed, concentratingon the buttons of her blouse. But of course they didn’t. At first they did, all the time. They had to mark it off with a cross on a chart which they presented nervously to a nurse at the clinic. And she would assess if they were doing it at the right times, according to the right pattern. Sometimes it was important to save up his sperm for a while so that it would be a good potent hit when the conditions were right. Other times they had sex as often as they could manage. But nothing had worked. So then they had sex at a time prescribed by the doctor, after which Anna would go to the clinic for a post-coital examination to determine just why his sperm and her eggs weren’t hitting it off. But no one could tell them. And so they moved onto ‘assisted reproductive techniques’, and ever since Mac had had more intimate moments with a plastic specimen cup than he’d had with his own wife.
    â€˜We’re so busy trying to make a baby, we never make love,’ Anna said quietly. Mac looked down into her eyes and she stared steadily back up at him, lucid in that moment. Sometimes the truth reared its ugly head when they least expected it. And then it would disappear again before they had time to really grasp it. Mac knew Anna would remember nothing in the morning; there was no point pursuing it now.
    â€˜Come on, you have to sit up,’ he said, pulling her upright. He peeled the shirt off her shoulders and she obediently lifted her arms out of the sleeves. He stood up and walked across to her chest of drawers to find her a nightie. When he turned back Anna was standing up. She had removed her bra and tossed itaside, and now she was unzipping her skirt. She stood looking at him plaintively as she let it drop to the floor. Mac didn’t say anything. A moment passed, followed by another. She was breathing heavily, waiting, anticipating, her eyes almost pleading. He walked back towards her, raised the nightie over her head and pulled it down, covering her. He heard her sniff as she pushed her arms through the sleeves. Then she leaned against him, burying her head into his