Things have been strained between them lately. Distracted by the prospect of his son being taken from him, Jake has been frequently absent from their home over the past few weeks, and when he is there he has seemed distant and preoccupied. He’d made it clear to Leah that he disapproves of her friendship with Anton, and while they have avoided any outright confrontations of late, the atmosphere between them has been prickly with unspoken resentments and anxious uncertainties. At times, it has felt like their relationship might be too precarious to support a new life.

But with the squeeze of Jake’s hand around hers, his excitement passing through to her, any lingering doubts she’s had about his feelings for this pregnancy evaporate. They are in it together. Whatever happens.

‘Right then,’ Dr Feeney says. ‘Shall we take a look?’

The gel is cold on her belly. He’d warned her it would be but, still, it’s a shock. She’s stretched out on the examining couch, Dr Feeney on a little stool beside her, one hand pressing the paddle of the ultrasound into her bump, the other hand working the computer beneath the screen, which throws back blurry images in black and white, like interference on an old TV.

Jake stands behind her. He’s holding her hand. She feels his excited anticipation communicating with hers, but keeps her eyes on Dr Feeney and that screen, waiting for him to find her baby through the walls of tissue, then turn the screen so she can see.

The silence in the room seems to stretch and grow taut. She watches his face carefully, scouring it for clues. It’s a serious and concentrated look, but then she catches a fleeting frown – a barely perceptible tightening of his features. The pressure of Jake’s grip around her hand intensifies and she knows he’s seen it too.

‘Is everything all right?’ she asks the doctor, because she’s deeply worried now.

He doesn’t answer, continues to stare hard at the screen, and she wills him to speak, wills him to tell her that everything is all right. Her baby is safe.

Slowly, he draws his gaze away from the screen and the look he gives her is so full of compassion that she feels it at once: the prick of fear, the puncturing of hope.

She knows what he is going to say before he says it. His voice is soft and she steels herself against it, feeling the imminent return of that old feeling: dread.

‘I’m afraid, Leah,’ he says gently, ‘it’s not good news.’

There is no baby.