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if he were Liam being unjustly told off for something. Then his brow cleared. ‘What about school?’ he said. ‘He can’t miss school.’
    ‘He can go to St Angela’s for a term. He needs to get away from Marcus. This will be good for him. A complete change of scenery. He can walk to school like I did.’
    ‘You wouldn’t be able to get him in,’ said Will frantically. ‘He’s not Catholic!’
    ‘Who says he’s not Catholic?’ said Tess. ‘He’s baptised in the Catholic Church.’
    Felicity opened her mouth and shut it again.
    ‘I’ll get him in,’ said Tess. She had no idea how hard it would be to get him in. ‘Mum knows people at the church.’
    As Tess spoke, images of St Angela’s, the tiny local Catholic school she and Felicity had both attended, filled her head. Playing hopscotch in the shadows of the church spires. The sound of church bells. The sweet rotting smell of forgotten bananas in the bottom of school bags. It was a five-minute walk from Tess’s mother’s home. The school was at the end of a tree-lined cul-de-sac and in summer the trees formed a canopy overhead like a cathedral. It was autumn now, still warm enough to swim in Sydney. The leaves of the liquidambars would be green and gold. Liam would walk through puddles of pale pink rose petals on uneven footpaths.
    Some of Tess’s old teachers were still at St Angela’s. Kids who Tess and Felicity had been at school with had grown up and turned into mums and dads who sent their own children there. Tess’s mother mentioned their names sometimes, and Tess could never quite believe they still existed. Like the gorgeous Fitzpatrick boys. Six blond, square-jawed boys who were so similar they looked like they’d been purchased in bulk. They were so good-looking Tess used to blush whenever one of them walked by. One of the altar boys was always a Fitzpatrick. Each of them left St Angela’s in Year 4 and went off to that exclusive Catholic boys school on the harbour. They were wealthy as well as gorgeous. Apparently the eldest Fitzpatrick boy now had three daughters who were all at St Angela’s.
    Could she really do it? Take Liam to Sydney and send him to her old primary school? It felt impossible; like she was trying to send him back through time to her childhood. For a moment she felt dizzy again. This wasn’t happening. Of course she couldn’t take Liam out of school. His sea-creature project was due on Friday. He had Little Athletics on Saturday. She had a load of washing ready to go on the line, and a potential new client to see first thing tomorrow morning.
    But she saw that Will and Felicity were exchanging glances again, and her heart twisted. She looked at her watch. It was six-thirty pm. From upstairs she could hear the theme music for that unbearable show, The Biggest Loser. Liam must have switched off his DVD and changed it over to normal TV. In a minute he’d flick the channel looking for something with guns.
    ‘You get nothing for nothing! ’ shouted someone from the television set.
    Tess hated the empty motivational phrases they used on that show.
    ‘I’ll get us on a flight tonight,’ she said.
    ‘ Tonight? ’ said Will. ‘You can’t take Liam on a flight tonight.’
    ‘Yes I can. There’ll be a nine pm flight. We’ll make it easily.’
    ‘Tess,’ Felicity said. ‘This is over the top. You really don’t need to –’
    ‘We’ll get out of your way,’ said Tess. ‘So you and Will can sleep together. Finally. Take my bed! I changed the sheets this morning.’
    Other things came into her head. Far worse things she could say.
    To Felicity: ‘He likes you on top, so lucky you lost all that weight!’
    To Will: ‘Don’t look too closely at all the stretch marks.’
    But no, they were the ones who should be feeling as sordid as a roadside motel. She stood up and smoothed down the front of her skirt.
    ‘So that’s that. You’ll just have to deal with the agency without me. Tell the clients there’s been