‘Cut his head in a fight outside the Royal Oak,’ said the officer, looking distinctly fed up.

Darren struggled to sit up. ‘That shit-fer-brains Tommy Dawson asked me if I’d mind if he had a crack at Evie now we’ve split up,’ he grunted angrily.

Jensen pressed my arm discreetly. ‘Are you going to introduce us?’

‘Yes of course, how rude of me.’ I felt my face flush.

This was just perfect. My family and I were making one hell of an impression today; first an unwanted pregnancy and now a drunk and disorderly … ‘Darren, this is Jensen Butterworth, my boss’s grandson.’

‘Pleased to meet you,’ said Jensen, he extended a hand automatically before realizing that Darren was handcuffed to two officers. He patted his shoulder instead and looked at me. There was a strange expression on his face: somewhere between intrigued, horrified and amused.

‘And Darren is my sister Evie’s husband.’

‘Soon to be ex-husband,’ Darren chuntered. ‘What are you doing in here anyway?’

‘I hit my head at work,’ I said, which was the truth, but all the same, I couldn’t quite meet his eye. Not that there was anything to worry about there; his eyeballs seemed to be looking in different directions.

Suddenly there was a commotion at the reception desk and we all turned to see a diminutive blonde demanding to see someone in charge.

‘Oh no, it’s my sister,’ I hissed to Jensen, looking for a way out. But it was no use; a nurse was already pointing at us.

His eyes widened with curiosity, I could only imagine what he’d be telling Betsy later on. This was getting worse by the second.

‘Darren, what the hell?’ Evie yelled, taking in the sight of her usually law-abiding husband wedged between two policemen. ‘I’ve just had a call from the landlord at the Royal Oak. What’s going on? Don’t tell me you really picked a fight with that lunatic Tommy Dawson? And why did you call Lottie and not me? Hello, sis.’ She took a breather from yelling at Darren to kiss me and raise her eyebrows at Jensen and me holding hands. Then she did a double take, noticing the dressing on my forehead.

‘I didn’t, she’s ill too,’ Darren protested.

‘Bloody hell, Lottie.’ She stared at me. ‘Are you okay?’

I swallowed. ‘Fine. Absolutely fine. This is Jensen.’

‘Hi,’ she said, flicking her eyes to him briefly and back to me. ‘You don’t look fine. What happened to you?’

‘Nothing.’ And then, without thinking, I did something for the first time, something that from then on I’d be doing approximately once every five minutes for the next few months: I placed a hand protectively on my tummy.

With the sixth sense of someone who had been enviously watching other pregnant women for years, Evie noticed the move straight away. The blood drained from her face.

‘You’re … Oh my God, you’re pregnant, aren’t you? Are you pregnant?’

My mouth went dry; so much for not telling her.