‘Yeah, well, the feeling’s mutual. She’s always banging on about how great you are. Anyway, I do think she and Harv would be good together.’

She nods. ‘I think you’re right.’

Isha (aka the Iron Woman) is one of many new mates I made on the Those Who Can teacher training course earlier this year. She’s brilliant: smart and funny and – incredibly – perhaps even more fitness-obsessed than Harv. She ticks off a different triathlon pretty much every weekend, and since she’s recently single, I’ve been talking Harv up to her at every given opportunity.

Daff takes a last sip of coffee and plonks her mug on the bedside table. ‘I still can’t believe that by this time next year you’ll be Mr Hazeley.’

I lean into her, kissing her hair. ‘Oi, don’t jinx it. I’ve still got the exams to get through.’

She smiles at me. ‘Come on, Ben … You know you’re good at it.’

I shrug, but I can’t help smiling back. I am good at it, I think.

I’m now four months into my stint as a teaching assistant at a local comprehensive, and the first time I stood up in front of a class, it was like something finally clicked. The lesson was Year 11 English, and I had to suppress my shock when I saw the book we’d be dissecting: The History of Mr Polly by H. G. Wells. A book that contains the line: ‘If you don’t like your life, you can change it.’

Anyway, it’s early days, but I love it. I really do. By next summer – exam results pending – I’ll be a fully qualified teacher. The idea makes me tingle with excitement.

Daff finishes her last bit of bacon and sets her tray aside. ‘Well, that was outrageous. Thanks very much.’

‘No worries,’ I say. ‘Although I am kind of disappointed that you’re still eating normal food. I thought you were supposed to be having weird cravings by now. I’m quite looking forward to knocking you up pilchards with raspberry jam, or whatever.’

She smiles at me, her brown eyes sparkling. ‘You’ve been reading those leaflets the doctor gave us, then?’

‘Erm, to be honest, I think I’m getting this from an episode of Friends where Phoebe was pregnant.’

‘Excellent.’ She nods. ‘Good to know you’re taking this whole experience seriously.’

I lay my tray aside too, and cuddle up to her. ‘So … how are we going to do it today, then?’

Daff shrugs. ‘I think we should just do it when everyone’s arrived. All my lot, and your uncle and aunt and cousins and everyone. Harv and Jamila are coming for drinks at eleven-ish, so they should still be here too. We can tell them all at once.’ She pounds her fist into her palm. ‘Maximum impact.’

I kiss her shoulder. ‘Your mum is going to lose her mind.’