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Somehow it was no longer enough for the UK to exit the European Union.

Every former tie and mutual obligation had to be expunged.

No deal was better than a bad deal, Tories repeated on every news round.

In a little over two months, the country looked likely to crash out of the EU, without arrangements in place for not just medicines and food but transport, national security, toilet roll, or the chemicals needed for clean water.

But did Boris want No Deal—or did he want a better deal from Europe that only the threat of No Deal could deliver?

Coralie couldn’t help thinking of Adam trying to get the girls to circus school on the weekend.

Only at the last minute—when every water bottle, shoe, and raincoat was lost, when missing the bus was all but assured, when Zora had stormed out, Flo was crying, and Coralie was bathed in anxiety sweat—could Adam finally rouse himself to leave the house.

All he required was chaos. He had that in common with Boris.

On the last Sunday in August, the Observer revealed that the prime minister was considering proroguing Parliament.

Everyone suddenly learned what proroguing meant—it meant a total shutdown.

All politicians would be sent home at the end of the week.

Westminster would stand empty. There would be no political debate or scrutiny of the government’s plans before the final summit in Europe. The stage for No Deal would be set.

What was the birth like? Sam wrote. (His had gone fine. His son looked exactly like him.)

BESTIAL , Lydia replied.

Coralie had found her first birth more shattering than bestial.

Her mind had fragmented the instant she’d felt pain.

This time, she prayed for bestial. She wanted to howl at the moon.

It would be all about her body! Her mind wouldn’t even come into it!

She’d breathe, in a yogic way. She’d stay at home for twice as long, three times as long as she did with Florence.

When she got to the hospital, being examined wouldn’t hurt or embarrass her, and would reveal that she was extremely dilated, possibly even six centimeters, and everyone would be excited, not cutting their eyes away in dismay.

Rather than screaming at Adam to stop eating fucking crisps , she’d let him cuddle her and be nice to her and bring her water and cups of ice.

Afterward he’d be grinning, ecstatic, and bragging about his wife being a warrior, instead of going off in private to be sick in a plastic bag.

All she wanted to do was to be able to let go .

Buh! Buh! Loose lips up the top, loose lips down below!

···

All summer Coralie talked nonstop about “big nursery,” the new nursery Florence would go to for “big kids.” Florence scooted (Coralie walked) down Malvern Road, practicing the new route.

They journeyed to Westfield Stratford to pick out a lunch box, a water bottle, a rucksack, and some lilac Crocs for slippers.

Florence W , read the extra-adhesive dishwasher-safe name tags they put on everything.

Once, when she was talking about “big nursery,” and Adam muttered, “Query: What was wrong with old nursery ?” Coralie rushed up, cornered him in the open pantry, angled the door so Florence wouldn’t see, and hissed, “Get on board or shut the fuck up!” And because she was so pregnant by then, and he was a largely absent deadbeat dad in thrall to his mistress, Journalism, he backed away, looking sheepish. “Sorry, sorry, okay? Sorry.”

Anne and Sally kindly offered to drop Florence off for her first day, but Coralie said she’d do it herself.

“Florence.” Miss Sarah, the Montessori teacher with the acorn hair, reached for Florence’s hand to shake it.

Coralie cringed as Florence slapped Miss Sarah’s hand, clearly presuming it was some kind of “side five.”

“So, you’re going to be a big sister,” Miss Sarah said. “Do you know if it will be a boy or girl?”

“It’s a brudda,” Florence said. “What’s in that?” She pointed at a large fish tank.

Miss Sarah looked coyly over her shoulder. “An axolotl. Have you ever seen one? He looks like he wears a crown, or a headdress. But they’re really his feathery gills. Shall we go and meet him?”

And Florence, tiny, dwarfed by the smallest K?nken rucksack, walked in happily without saying goodbye.

···

Back at home, Anne and Sally had set up camp in the sitting room.

“Staggeringly hypocritical,” Anne scoffed at the television.

“Tea?” Coralie offered. “Coffee?”

“Oh, I’ll make the tea,” Sally said. “And what’s that you have? Sourdough? I’ll make you some toast with it. You sit down and enjoy some rolling news.”

Coralie collapsed on the sofa next to Anne. “What’s the latest?”

“Crunch time,” Anne said. “Parliament’s prorogued from the end of the week. Will they have the time, and the numbers, to outlaw a No Deal Brexit? Some senior Tories might cross the floor. Boris will expel them all if they do. Hypocrite! He’s obviously the only one who’s allowed to rebel.”

Coralie remembered getting the train out to Croydon to take the compulsory “Life in the UK” test in order to stay in the country.

How seriously the UK took itself as a nation, historically and in the present day, as the center of civilization and the world, the mother of all parliaments and the inventors of “the rule of law.” “Who built the Tower of London?” was one of the simpler questions on the test. (It was William the Conqueror, after he became king in 1066.) And, confusingly:

What is NOT a fundamental principle of British life?

? Looking after the environment

? Driving a car

? Treating others with fairness

? Looking after yourself and family

And, almost satirically:

On his escape from the Battle of Worcester, Charles II famously hid inside what?

? A cellar

? A forest

? An oak tree

? None of the above

God! Like, who cared? Who the fuck cared?

Talk about self-obsessed! How long had Indigenous people inhabited what became known as Australia before the British gave them smallpox?

In which episode does [redacted] die in the classic Australian TV drama Love My Way ?

What’s the acceptable ratio of blue-sky days to desaturated white or gray?

Because, you see, Coralie also came from somewhere!

Somewhere that was, in some ways, shit—and, in others, really good?

Why did she have to learn all these so-called facts about the UK, when the only thing British people knew about Australia was snakes ?

She loved the UK, she really did: lunch at Towpath Cafe, a Tube carriage full of passengers ignoring a mad person talk about the Bible, Lahore Kebab House, Falcon Enamelware, Stormzy at Glastonbury in a Union Jack stab-vest, Popbitch, and the Cazalets.

But now these tin-pot chumps were breathlessly livestreaming their own slow-motion societal collapse, pausing only to zoom in on Boris Johnson’s new rescue dog, Dilyn, who (trembling) was being carried into Number Ten in a see-through pet bag.

“A puppy?” Anne said. “How can a puppy that young be a rescue?”

Well, Coralie didn’t have anything on until Montessori pickup at three thirty.

And she couldn’t give birth until after Zora started secondary the next day.

And Sally had just made her buttery toast with marmalade.

She tucked her feet up on the sofa, took a sip of her tea, and relaxed to enjoy the show.

···

For her first day at Camden Girls, Zora wore a white broderie-anglaise nightie she’d bought on eBay using her birthday money, and a generic black M then Zora with Rup; then Zora with Marina and Adam; then with Tom as well, and Coralie.

(Daniel took that one.) Then Zora with Anne, and Zora with Anne and Adam.

Finally, they did Zora on her own with Madonna in her lap.

More and more girls walked past, streaming toward the school.

“This is actually getting embarrassing,” Zora said. “And the whole point of secondary is that I go to school alone.”

“Not on your first day,” Marina said.

“ Yes on my first day!” She descended the stairs, looking like a child one second and an ancient, intimidating queen the next.

How could this be? Zora Whiteman going to secondary school? Tears were forming in Coralie’s eyes. Marina was openly crying.

“Stop growing up!” Anne said.

They all watched silently as she walked to the end of the street.

Marina sniffed. “Is she not going to turn around?”

Zora turned, waved, then disappeared.

Tom put his arm around Marina and punched Adam softly on the shoulder. “You did it.”