The questions line up while she hangs up her jacket and takes off her boots. Wait impatiently while she fills a pot with water, takes out the tea tin. Drums their fingers urgently while she stands in front of the fridge, wondering what she had meant to take out. She can’t recall, so she closes the door.

She goes over to the window and looks at the rowan tree outside. Notes that it looks completely bare, even though she knows it’s covered with buds. Sees the light from the annex windows between the branches. The rectangle of light when the door opens and Leo steps outside. The tiny flame of the lighter, the silhouette of his gangly body when he leans against the railing and takes a drag.

He looks lonely, she thinks.

And something moves beyond that thought. Seeking her attention yet pulling away.

Get it the fuck together. Think!

What’ll happen a few months from now? A year? What happens if the child is sick, if it has a congenital disorder or defect? How would he deal with that? Leo, who has run for the hills before. Who chose to live under the loading docks in the New Harbour when life became overwhelming. Would he stay?

How would she deal with it? On a practical level. How do people do it? Even if the child comes out perfectly healthy. How the fuck do people do it?

I don’t remember.

She can hear the water simmering. Turns around and looks at the pot where bubbles are forming at the bottom, waits for them to grow to the size of fish eyes. She should have put a lid on it.

I wasn’t even thirty last time, and I had John, she thinks. Long nights of colic, fever, teething, crying.

But also, all the other things.

The smile with that first tooth. The two, almost three first steps, the first word – not mummy, not daddy. She and John had exchanged a horrified glance: Did he just say fuck? The ecstatic smile brought on by the first spoonful of Ben & Jerry’s.

The first day of school.

She gently closes her hand; she can still feel his, small and nervous, in hers as they crossed the schoolyard. Remembers the next day when her hand had already become unnecessary. Remembers what he looked like when he let go of it and ran ahead towards his new life with his backpack bouncing against his slim back. Remembers that she thought it looked far too big for his little body, that they would have to buy him a smaller one.

I’ll never forget you.

How can I ever love like that again? Someone other than Mathis.

The water is boiling now and steam hits her face when she pours it over the leaves in the pot.