I watched the nurse as she inspected Kate and her vital signs.

"She's putting on weight just fine," said the nurse.

"Thank you." I beamed proudly.

"She's a perfectly healthy baby." The nurse smiled.

"Thank you," I said again.

I opened the door to leave and a fresh wave of screeching sent me reeling.

We fought our way back through the throng of red-faced and yelling children. From what I could gather, a bunch of them were getting their shots and this was contributing to the general upset.

I picked my way carefully through the deafening crowd, carrying Kate.

As I thankfully closed the door on the racket behind me, the last thing I heard was that poor woman wailing "Even three minutes. I'd settle for three."

Then we had to wait for a while until it was my turn to see the doctor. I read a copy of Woman's Own Woman's Own that dated from sometime around the turn of the century ("Crinolines are definitely that dated from sometime around the turn of the century ("Crinolines are definitely out out this autumn"). Kate had a little sleep. this autumn"). Kate had a little sleep.

Eventually I was called and in we went.

The doctor was a nice old codger. Gray suit, gray hair, vague kindly manner.

"Hello, ah yes, Claire, yes Claire and baby er Catherine,"202.

he said, reading from the notes on his desk. "Come in and sit down."

After a moment he looked up at the chair in front of him and when I wasn't there his glance darted anxiously around the room, wondering where I had gone.

I had placed Kate's car seat on the floor and I was over at the examining couch with my underwear off and my feet in the stirrups with a speed that left his head spinning.

Old habits die hard.

The next time I'd have to go to the doctor, no matter what my complaint, from an earache to a sprained wrist, I'd be hard-pressed to stop myself from whipping off my underwear and clambering up onto the couch.

The doctor did whatever it was he did, involving that old friend of mine, the lubricated glove.

I'm sorry if I'm being revolting.

There was a time when I would have felt faint at even the thought of having a Pap smear. But after being pregnant and giving birth, I think I could have a hysterectomy under just local anesthetic and still be sitting up and cheerfully discussing last night's TV with the surgeon.

Hell, why bother with the anesthetic?

"You've healed beautifully," he told me, making it sound like a great achievement.

"Thank you," I said, glowing, smiling up at him from between my legs.

I felt as though I was five years old and had got all my math homework right at school.

"Yes, no complications there at all," he continued. "Has all the bleeding stopped yet?"

(sorry about this, I won't go on about it for long.) "Yes, it stopped about a week ago," I told him.

"And the stitches have healed perfectly," he said, continuing to peer and poke.

"Thank you." I smiled again.

"Right, you can get down now," he told me.

"So is everything else all right?" he asked as I got dressed.

"Fine," I said. "Fine."

"Um, when can I have sex again?" I suddenly blurted out.

(Now why why did I ask that?) did I ask that?)203.

"Well, your six weeks are up, so anytime you like," he said genially.

"You could start right now." He threw back his head and guffawed loudly.

Then he stopped abruptly as-I assume-visions of the medical council hearings and motions to have him fired began to swim before him.

There's a very fine line between an acceptable bedside manner and a lewd suggestion. Perhaps Dr. Keating hadn't quite grasped the difference yet.

"Ahem," he said, calming himself down. "Yes, anytime you like."

"Will it hurt?" I asked anxiously.

"It may feel a little bit uncomfortable at first, but it shouldn't feel painful painful as such. Ask your husband to be particularly gentle with you." as such. Ask your husband to be particularly gentle with you."

"My husband husband?" I asked the doctor, in surprise.

I hadn't even been thinking of my husband.

"Yes, your husband," he said, sounding equally surprised. "You are a married woman, aren't you, Mrs., ah, Mrs. Webster," he said, consulting my notes.

"Yes, of course I am," I said, blushing. "But I was, er, you know, just making general inquiries. I wasn't actually planning on having intercourse with anyone." I thought if I said the word intercourse intercourse instead of the word instead of the word sex sex it might help to neutralize this embarrassing and awkward atmosphere that seemed to have suddenly developed. it might help to neutralize this embarrassing and awkward atmosphere that seemed to have suddenly developed.

"Oh," he said baldly.

Silence and Dr. Keating's bewilderment hung heavy in the air.

Time to leave, I thought.

Come on, Kate.

"How did it go?" asked Mum as she answered the door to us.

"Fine," I said. "Fine. Kate's putting on weight nicely, the nurse says."

"And how are you?" she asked.

"Couldn't be better, apparently," I said. "I'm in tip-top condition. I've a vagina to be proud of."

Mum gave me a look of distaste.

"There's no need to be vulgar," she tisked at me.

"I wasn't being vulgar," I protested.204.

"Come and have a cup of tea with me before Neighbours Neighbours comes on," said Mum. comes on," said Mum.

"Er, did anyone call for me while I was out?" I inquired of her, oh-so-casually, as I traipsed behind her into the kitchen.

"No."

"Oh."

"Why, who were you expecting to call?" she asked, looking at me closely.

"No one," I said, setting Kate's car seat down on the kitchen table.

"Well, why did you ask, in that case?" she said in a tone of voice which reminded me that, however much she might act like one, my mother was no fool.

"And take the child off the table!" she said, whacking my arm with a tea towel. "People have to eat off that."

"She's perfectly clean!" I protested, outraged.

How dare she.

So Adam hasn't called, I mused as I drank my tea. I wondered if he was still annoyed with me. Maybe he was never going to call me again. Not that I'd have blamed him, with me behaving all neurotic and argumentative.

And I didn't have his number, so I couldn't call him.

So that was probably the end of that.

The fling that never was.

The passionate affair that was never consummated.

The soulmates who were divided by circumstances.

The lovers who loved from afar.

Although then again it wasn't even lunchtime yet.

Give the guy a chance.

But he didn't call.

I hung around all afternoon feeling bored and dissatisfied.

I didn't want to do anything.

I couldn't be bothered reading.

And Kate was whining and crying and I didn't feel very patient with her.

I halfheartedly watched the afternoon soaps with Mum, because I couldn't come up with a good reason for why I shouldn't.

I think I would have preferred to sit through several third-205 rate Antipodean dramas, with the same actors reappearing in each successive program, than get into another conversation with Mum on how my university education had made me a snob.

And she knew that something was wrong.

"You're very gloomy-looking," she said.

(Although her actual words were "Claire, you're like a tree over a blessed well.") "Why the hell wouldn't I be?" I snapped back.

"Sorry," she said. "God knows it's not easy for you."

Well, she was quite right, it was not. But she was obviously referring to my situation with James. And not my lack of one with Adam.

"No, I'm sorry," I told her, feeling rotten for biting her head off.

It was six o'clock and Dad's key was in the door before I realized with horror that I hadn't called James.

Dammit, dammit, dammit.

I really had meant to do it but because of all the things going on-the big event of going to the doctor and the major event of Adam's not calling-I had just totally forgotten.

I resolved to do it first thing in the morning.

The debacle that was dinnertime took my mind off things for a while.

Helen came home with Dad and was demanding McDonald's.

"No, Helen," shouted Dad. "We only eat McDonald's on holidays."

"Well that's stupid," she shouted back. "Other families, normal normal families, eat there on ordinary days." families, eat there on ordinary days."

Oh, but she could be very cruel.

So the upshot was that Helen got her way as usual and Dad drove off like a Grand Prix driver with a long and complicated order to McDonald's.

Helen roared after him, "No pickles on the Quarter Pounder!"

But he was already gone.