So how had she ended up expecting his baby? What’s that phrase? Grief does funny things to you? It certainly did funny things to my parents. My grandma – Mum’s mum – had sadly passed away during my exams. It turned out that the ‘dodgy tummy’ was actually terminal cancer. Grandma had known that her days were numbered yet she hadn’t breathed a word to anyone. Mum had been very close to her and was devastated that she’d not known how ill she was. A few weeks after the funeral, I was having a sleepover at my best friend, Karen’s, to celebrate the end of college. I’d registered the date too late: Grandma’s birthday. Mum refused to let me cancel and insisted she’d be fine. She’d have a glass of wine and toast Grandma, then maybe design a new bear in her honour. Only the glass of wine turned into a full bottle. She was an emotional mess when Dad arrived home from partaking in a few too many at the nineteenth hole. Surprisingly, he’d been a great comfort. A bit too much of a comfort. The consequences changed everything.

Mum had thought that I was in my room when she told him she was pregnant but I’d been thirsty and was on my way to the kitchen when I stopped dead on the stairs, my jaw dropping at what I’d just heard. I crouched down and peered through the bannister.

Mum was on the sofa but I could only see her legs, not her face. Dad was facing the fireplace, gripping onto the mantlepiece. Even from my hiding place, I could feel the tension emanating from him. He turned round to face Mum.

‘Are you planning on keeping the baby?’ It came across more like an accusation than a question.

‘Of course.’ She sounded surprised that he’d even ask.

His fists clenched in his hair. ‘Despite the fact that we barely have a relationship, let alone a marriage?’

‘It’s not the baby’s fault.’ Mum’s voice was gentle which I knew would rattle him even more.

‘And it’s not my fault either!’

I could imagine Mum raising her eyebrows at him.

‘Look, Jules, you can do what the hell you want, but I don’t want another baby. Ever.’ He pointed an accusing finger at her. ‘If I was to offer you an ultimatum of me or the baby, we both know what the answer would be, don’t we? Which begs the question: why the hell are we still married?’

I assume Mum had no answer to that – or perhaps she simply shrugged – because it went quiet. Then Dad folded his arms, shook his head and said in a much calmer voice, ‘I guess it’s goodbye, then.’

‘I guess it is.’