She opens her mouth then closes it again. I think she must be annoyed, as we barely speak again during the twenty minutes it takes to get to the radiology centre. I park, turn off the engine and stare at the double doors.

“What if there’s something wrong with the baby?” I whisper.

“There won’t be.”

I take a deep breath in and let the air out loudly. “Right then, let’s go.”

We walk into the reception and I fill in a form while Emma sits beside me messaging Finn.

“How’s it going with you two?” I ask once I’ve handed my form back to the receptionist.

Finn is the new love of Emma’s life. I’m a tad jealous she’s in a stable relationship with him, especially as he’s handily the father of her unborn child.

“Great, only…” Emma bites her lip. “He’s thinking about moving in, which makes sense, I guess, because with his job he’ll be away for several months at a time and there’s no point in paying rent for a place when he’ll hardly be there. And he’s at my place most nights at the moment anyway, so…” She trails off.

“So, what’s the problem?”

“I can’t help thinking that if I wasn’t pregnant with his child, we wouldn’t be moving so fast. If I’m honest, I’m still recovering from the whole divorce from Paul and I’m not sure I’m ready to jump straight into living with another guy.”

“Fair enough.”

“But, Trish, I love Finn – like head-over-heels love him – and Freddie does, too. And I’m sure if he moved in it would be fine.”

“Have you talked to Finn about any of this?”

Emma shakes her head. “I don’t want to hurt him.”

“What would be worse, him moving in and you not feeling comfortable about it, or him possibly feeling a bit put out that you aren’t ready to live together yet?”

A man in a white coat appears and calls my name before Emma has a chance to reply. I stand, feeling like I’m being called into the principal’s office as we follow him down the corridor and into a room.

“This is my friend, Emma,” I say as I lie on the plastic-covered bed.

Emma pulls up a chair beside me. “I’m her support person.”

“Glad to hear it,” the man says brightly.

He seems kind enough, but I was expecting a female. This guy looks old enough to be my father. Just imagining my father standing next to me makes me roll my eyes. Dad refused even to go into the doctor’s room when I was six years old and suffering from an infected cut on my foot. He said it was “too personal” and that he’d stay in the waiting room.

“Right then.”