‘Suits you,’ Bea says to me with a smile, nodding at Ella.

‘Okay, time to hand the baby back,’ Lachie jokes.

‘No way,’ I say, snuggling the little bundle closer and smiling down on her angelic, sleeping face. ‘She’s adorable.’

‘Definitely time to hand the baby back,’ he says.

I glance at Lachie and narrow my eyes at him with not entirely mock annoyance.

‘Aw,’ Maggie says, the corners of her lips turning down as she gazes at her brother. ‘I thought you wanted kids?’

She has three boys upstairs – all asleep and ready for Father Christmas.

Lachie shrugs. ‘Yeah, one day.’ He pauses. ‘I think.’

I shoot him a quick look. He thinks?

‘But not for a few more years,’ he adds.

‘You shouldn’t leave it too long,’ Bea advises, avoiding my gaze.

The fact that I’m six years older than Lachie has escaped no one’s attention, I’m sure, but they’re too diplomatic to mention it.

‘We’ve got plenty of time for all that,’ Lachie replies calmly.

‘I hope you haven’t been hanging out with Elliot too much,’ Lydia chips in drily.

Lachie rolls his eyes at Lydia, while Maggie tactfully changes the subject, but his youngest sister’s comment is still playing on my mind later when we’ve retired to our tent.

‘Lachie?’ I’m lying in his arms, tracing my fingers across his ribcage.

‘Mmm?’ he replies sleepily.

‘Is Lydia right? Has El’s anti-kids stance rubbed off on you?’

I expect him to sigh or scoff or dismiss the conversation, but, when he doesn’t immediately reply, my fingers freeze in their tracks.

‘I love my nieces and nephews, but being around them just reminds me of how much work it all is.’ Lachie yawns, not seeming to notice how tense I suddenly feel.

‘I know, but everyone says it’s different when it’s your own,’ I point out.

He stills and then cranes his neck to look down at me. ‘Are you getting broody?’ He sounds apprehensive.

‘I don’t want to wait too much longer.’

‘How much longer are we talking here?’

‘I don’t know. A year or two?’

He slowly rests his head back onto his pillow and scratches his chin.

I wriggle onto my tummy and prop myself up on my elbows so he can’t escape my scrutiny. He looks pretty uncomfortable.

‘Lachie?’ I prompt.

‘I’m only twenty-eight,’ he replies eventually. ‘But thirty still seems way too young to me.’

I always wondered if our age gap would come back to bite me.

I think it just has.

‘I just… I don’t want to be an older mum. I’m already thirty-four. I thought I’d have children by now.’

‘I thought I’d get married one day, but you don’t believe in marriage, so that’s that, then…’ His slightly shirty voice trails off.

‘I’m not totally against it,’ I say with a frown. ‘I just don’t really see the point. Wait. Do you want to get married?’ I ask with surprise.

He doesn’t meet my eyes. ‘No. That’s not what I’m saying.’