The Pregnant Registrar. Carol Marinelli

for an errant husband and a lousy best friend, but I can be a good ally when needed.’

      Lydia nodded. ‘When you asked for the money—’

      ‘Forget it,’ Corey said. ‘It was my turn to be insensitive, my turn to make stupid assumptions. You’re right. Because you’re a registrar, because you’ve got fabulous nails and immaculate hair, I assumed you were loaded.’

      ‘Immaculate hair.’ Lydia gave an incredulous laugh. ‘It’s all over the place.’

      ‘So is Nicole Kidman’s,’ Corey pointed out.

      Lydia gave a dry laugh. ‘Ah, but mine’s naturally chaotic.’ Peering down at her hands, Lydia stared at her nails.

      And very nice they looked, too! But only because she’d given up biting them, only because she’d awarded herself a weekly home manicure as a treat for not chewing the blessed things.

      ‘As seemingly unplanned as this baby was, I had at least worked out the basics.’ Her eyes were still focused on her nails, the uncomfortable subject of money not really allowing for eye contact. ‘I was due long service leave, I’d worked at Bayside for years, I had more sick days and annual leave owing than anyone I’ve ever met, the pay office was always ringing and insisting I take a break…’

      ‘But the roster never accommodated,’ Corey filled in wisely, and Lydia nodded.

      ‘I could have taken close to a year off on full pay, bar shift allowance, but at the end of the day I couldn’t do it, couldn’t stay there another minute, with everyone knowing my business, everyone feeling sorry for me.’

      ‘Did Marcia leave?’

      ‘Why would she?’ Lydia responded, surprisingly without bitterness. ‘When I was more than ready to?

      ‘So now I’m having the baby Gavin insisted he wanted but evidently didn’t and facing three months off with no maternity leave pay. And as I bought Gavin out, I’ve now got a mortgage that would feed a third world country.’

      ‘You can make him pay,’ Corey ventured, but watching her stiffen he changed track. ‘Sorry, wrong choice of words. What I’m trying to say—’

      ‘I know,’ Lydia gulped. ‘And you’re right, I could make him pay: drag him through the children’s court for alimony and child support. But I’m not going to do it, Corey, because guess what? I neither want nor need his help. He signed himself out of this marriage when he slept with Marcia, and for a guy who’s so wrapped up in saving lives with his bloody drug trials, he couldn’t even raise a smile when he found out I was pregnant. So if you think I’m going to run to him with a begging bowl…’ She stopped, realising her anger, however merited, was misdirected. ‘I’d love to go to the ball, love to dig in my bag and sign a cheque, but the simple truth is I can’t.’ Lydia gave a dry smile ‘Have you seen the price of nappies?”

      ‘Wait till they’re weaned and hit the orange juice!’

      She would have laughed but tears had started. Corey pushed a box of tissues over the desk and when she couldn’t quite reach it he came around, wrapping her in his arms as if she were a rugby ball, letting her cry as if it was the most natural thing in the world, not remotely embarrassed as he held her and wiped rivers of mascara from her cheeks.

      And somewhere in mid-gulp, somewhere between another tissue and a glass of water, those arms that were holding her didn’t feel quite so comforting any more, the aftershave filling her nostrils not quite so reassuring…

      Panicky and out of control would be a rather more apt description, and for the first time in months it had nothing to do with an errant husband and a baby that hadn’t been on the agenda.

      For the first time in months it had everything nice to do with being a woman.