5.2
She closed the door on the bedroom and walked down the short hallway, catching her reflection in the mirror on her way past the bathroom. Dressed in baggy jeans and a scruffy brown cardigan, she was surprised to find she wasn’t troubled by her mother-of-babies frumpiness, the kind of mother that knew she hadn’t the time to be bothered with how she looked, adopting the moment she’d arrived in Cobargo a coping-in-spite-of-it-all manner. She was a survivor, having got through the first four weeks of twins.
In the living room, Yvette watched her girls as they slept in their baby carriers on the floor. From the moment they came into embryonic being her life had taken on a surreal quality, as if in flying to Perth she’d entered Salvador Dali’s ‘Dream Caused by the Flight of a Bee’. Every d
