‘Well, for one thing,’ he began, ‘I think we should move out of your mother’s house.’

I was taken aback. ‘But you were the one who wanted to live there!’ Having chafed at our living there when we were first married, I was now resigned to it. I was looking forward to our baby being there too, to her growing up in the ample space, the garden . . .

But he was already slamming something else at me. ‘And really, Kate, it’s time you stopped working.’

‘I am going to stop. I’ve only a few months to go!’

‘So why not give up now? I don’t like the idea of my wife working. And all those slummy houses around St Joseph’s. A married woman shouldn’t be out doing things like that. You should be at home, not out hobnobbing with all those rough women. I’m sure it can’t be good for the baby. Heaven knows what you might pick up there.’

I could feel a harsh outburst of temper rising. I did have feelings of guilt about being out at work, because most married women I knew were at home. My mother had already taken me to task several times on the subject. I resented this pressure to give up a job I enjoyed so much. But I knew I must keep my temper under control. If I lashed out at him now for his pompous preoccupation with his own needs the conversation would be scuppered.

‘I can’t see that a few more months will make any difference.’ I spoke softly, squeezing his hand. ‘And then the baby’ll be here, and I’ll be at home just how you want.’

‘Then why can’t you give up now?’

‘I’ve agreed to work until February.’

‘They’ll find someone else. Please, my darling.’ He looked imploringly at me. I saw his cheek twitch slightly. ‘All I’ve ever wanted was a proper family. Mother at home, children. Coming home to you at the end of the day. Doing what families are supposed to do, not like mine. More like yours.’

‘Mine? A father who we hardly ever saw, a mother who was mostly bored stiff, resenting every moment her talents were being wasted, and a brother and sister who despise each other? It’s true that we held together and my parents respected, probably loved, each other. But that was the truth of it. The only person I could ever really communicate with in my family was my grandmother.’

I took a mouthful of wine, felt it fingering warm down into my stomach. Douglas examined my face closely in silence as if trying to find something there.

‘You know, sometimes I wonder who on earth you really are, Kate.’

A wave of exhaustion swept through me. Sometimes I felt Douglas was trying to wring me dry. It was as if he could bear me to have no private thoughts: he needed total possession of me to feel safe.

There was a silence. Then he said, ‘It is my child?’