‘Yeah. Just…sorry, I guess, that I didn’t visit my mum more often. Time I’ll never get back now. But we can’t know until we know. And we had a great relationship, there’s nothing left unsaid there. But yeah, it’s something I’ll have to live with.’

‘Luke…’

‘So you’ll give me a heads-up about Yara’s tree? You’re thinking a week? More?’

‘Let’s say a week. Any time of the day that’s better for you to talk? Mornings? Evenings? I mean, with the time difference?’ This was a sneaky attempt to find out about his routine with Kallie.

‘Any time is fine.’ This gave me no information. ‘I mean it. Any time is good. Take care, Rachel.’

‘…You too.’

With a blooping noise, he was gone.

*

It’s me. Checking in on you regularly. Heard you’ve started having the chats with trees. Are you okay? Yes? No? A one-word answer will do. No need to write Game of Thrones.

Yes, I replied.

*

‘Welcome to Bottomless Brunch.’ A young server with pigtails and a cute hat slung menus our way.

‘Lunch,’ Claire said firmly. ‘It’s almost two o’clock. It’s lunch.’

‘Claire…’ I side-eyed her. ‘Let it go.’

‘Yeah, sorry.’ She waved away the jug of mimosa. ‘None of that bottomless crap for me, I like my alcohol to contain actual, you know, alcohol. I’ll have a negroni, thank you.’

‘Hey!’ Margaret’s friend Emily had arrived and we got up to hug her. Francesca and Molly were next to appear, then Helen and Kate and, finally, Mum and Anna.

Turning to me, Claire muttered, ‘I don’t know which is worse. That it’s “brunch” or that it’s a “girlie brunch”.’

‘It’s Margaret’s birthday,’ I hissed. ‘She can have whatever she wants.’

‘Hey,’ Helen said. ‘I’ve a question. If my baby is a girl, would it be weird to call her Bella Devlin?’

‘Yes,’ Claire said. ‘You fucking lunatic. They’d be sisters.’

‘And she’d be called Bella Devlin Devlin.’ This from Kate.

‘Anyway, what baby?’ Anna asked.

Suddenly, electrified with understanding, we were all staring at Helen. ‘What baby?’

She shifted awkwardly. ‘Yeah.’ She was sheepish. ‘Yeah. Six weeks.’

‘Why didn’t you tell us!?’

‘I don’t know. I could be in shock.’

‘What does Artie say?’

‘I haven’t told him yet.’

‘Helen!’

‘Anyway, it’s six weeks, which actually means only four. That’s nothing. It’s no guarantee of—’ She looked unexpectedly stricken.

Her gaze flicked to mine. Locked in a terrible embrace, fear squeezed my heart.

Sometime later, when we were all leaving, I grabbed her. ‘Helen’—I was insistent—‘if anything ever feels weird to you, anything, ring me, tell Artie, do something. But don’t ignore it. Do you hear me?’

‘Yeah, okay. Thanks.’

‘Even if it’s something tiny. Don’t be embarrassed by how small it might seem. Take it seriously.’