She turned sharply towards the checkouts, a queasy feeling bubbling at the base of her throat. It was too early for morning sickness, wasn’t it? This was fear. This was how she used to feel, in her drinking days, certainly through most of her car-crash twenties. She should tell Flynn, but she couldn’t see him enthusing about the insertion of a baby into his life, which was spent working in La City Pâtisserie by day and performing spoken-word poetry by night. He was just starting to gain traction as an artist. But he had a right to know, to make the decision for himself.

On a whim, she called him, stepping out on to the muted street, bathed in early morning light.

‘Hi,’ she breathed. ‘I wasn’t expecting you to answer.’

‘You okay?’ he asked.

‘Hm,’ she said. She bypassed the huge wooden door of her building and kept walking, turning right at Hôtel Lutetia, where Alice had once charmed the night porter into letting them in to the hotel bar by performing a cabaret skit involving a lamp post. She smiled, and chatted to Flynn about how his gig had gone last night and about her weekend.

‘Is there anything else?’ he asked, sensing her reticence.

She sighed, reaching the park. She’d never had to say this to anyone before. It wasn’t like in the movies. There was no sweet partner desperate for the news, no dick on-off boyfriend who would flee at the first hint of a baby. This wasn’t a test, there was no arc, no moment of redemption ahead for them both. There was her friend and co-worker Flynn and somewhere in the past there had been a faulty condom. Perhaps he would flee but she wasn’t emotionally entwined with him; she knew she could survive it if he did.

‘I’m pregnant,’ she said. And the news flew from the Jardin du Luxembourg all the way to a small B&B in Edinburgh.

‘Oh. Okay. Wow,’ he said. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘Okay, I think… I guess… I’ll have a… termination. I hate that word.’

‘They should come up with something better,’ he agreed. She heard a kettle in the background, pictured early morning light streaming in through the B&B’s windows. He liked to meditate in the morning.

‘I don’t want children,’ she said, swallowing.

‘I know,’ he said. ‘And that’s okay.’ His voice was soft and gentle, like a balm. She imagined incense wafting around his room. She suspected he travelled with incense.

‘But,’ she continued, ‘this could be my last shot. If I change my mind, will I always regret it? Do you want children?’

‘I think so. I hadn’t planned to just yet, but one day…’

She stopped walking and closed her eyes. Felt sunbeams lie flat on her eyelids. There was a cool breeze and children shrieking in delight as they pushed toy sailboats into the lake.

‘Or maybe this day, if that’s what you want? It’s your decision, Nina, but if you want to keep the baby, I’m here. I’m in. I’ll support you, whatever you decide. You know that, right?’