Emma laughs and I’m reminded of the years I spent at university with my three closest friends: Emma, Mags and Lily. Not only were we inseparable, but we were also powerful. Nothing fazed us. Obviously we grew up and realized the power was a smokescreen over our naivety; a smokescreen eventually destroyed by the harsh realities of adulthood, but I sometimes miss the Emma who refused to take life seriously and was game to try everything. I admired her for it. Was jealous even, since I’ve never been one to leap into any situation without considering all the facts first. Except for five months ago, when I leapt and will have to live with the consequences for the rest of my life.

Stop it, I tell myself.

“Freddie,” Emma calls out. “Time to go home and get ready. Daddy will be here soon.”

Ah, daddy – such an innocuous little word with so much hell wrapped up in it.

“How’s it going with the new arrangement?” I ask softly.

Emma frowns. “OK, I guess.” She rolls her eyes. “I’m trying to accept this new Paul, but it’s challenging. He’s taking Freddie to church on Sunday, for God’s sake.”

Emma has only recently finalized a custody arrangement whereby her ex-husband has Freddie from 5 p.m. Friday to 3 p.m. Sunday on alternate weekends. At least this gives Emma a little time to herself, or some alone time with her new and improved boyfriend, Finn. Emma leads a hectic life. If she’s not trying to be the world’s best mum, she’s busting a gut running her own café. To think in a few months, she’ll be throwing another child into the mix…

“How do you feel about the whole worshiping God thing?” I ask.

“I don’t mind Freddie learning about Christianity – I just don’t want him going all religious on me.”

“Fair enough.”

An image flashes into my head of my family groomed and impeccably dressed, sitting to attention in the front row of St Joseph’s Church. My father, dressed in full military uniform, is at the end of the pew next to the aisle. He’s watching us without turning his eyes in our direction – a skill he excelled at. Once I had to scratch an itch behind my knee. The way my father went on about it when we got home, you’d think I’d picked my nose and flicked the snot at the minister’s face. There was no chance Mum was coming to my defence – she’d already returned to bed. And, of course, my two older brothers had disappeared to their room the second Dad raised his voice.

Resting a hand on my belly, I take another deep breath, but it’s harder this time. My chest is too tight and I can’t get the air down past my ribs.

We stand as Freddie runs over.