‘We actually had three women older than you give birth last year in this country. It’s usually one or two, on average, if you only count spontaneous pregnancies.’

‘Spontaneous . . . ?’

‘Yes, natural conception, as opposed to egg donation. If we add those, it’s more, around ten.’

She had listened and nodded. As though she understood.

‘I’m not going to advise you one way or the other,’ Ursula Lek had said, emphasising each syllable. ‘There’s some increased risk, but it’s certainly not unnatural. At least your body clearly doesn’t think so.’

And she and Marike had talked about the ultrasound she was scheduled for the day after tomorrow. How long she has to decide.

All those things, they’d talked about.

Not the other things. The things that barely have time to begin before they end. The sparks that immediately wink out. Nothing about that goddamn flicker of joy she can’t bear to feel again. Not a word about John or Mathis.

Couldn’t talk about it. Just couldn’t.

Didn’t have to.

‘I can’t. I can’t do it,’ she’d said.

‘I don’t think you have a choice,’ Marike had repeated. ‘You can’t lose another child. That’s what you can’t do, Karen.’

Chapter 28

28

‘I think we need to talk,’ Leo says.

The inevitability of it lands like a blow. She mechanically continues to stroke Rufus’s belly, tries to focus on the thought that maybe she should feed him less, that it’s late, that she should go to bed. That this definitely isn’t the right time.

She knows what’s coming.

‘What is this crap you’re watching?’ he continues.

That, she couldn’t answer if she wanted to. Has no idea why she turned on the TV or what’s on it. It seems to be adverts right now, she notes as Leo takes a seat at the other end of the sofa. Without protest, she watches him reach for the remote and turn the TV off.

He already knows.

He has finally puzzled out that Sigrid’s innocent comment actually hit the nail on the head. People don’t just throw up for no reason. They’re not usually this damn moody, either, not even her. Of course he has figured it out. And now, he has come to tell her how insane it would be to even consider it. To persuade her that it wouldn’t be the right thing for anyone involved. As gently as possible, he’s going to explain that while he has no regrets, none whatsoever, he’s not ready for a relationship.

‘I know what you’re thinking,’ she says. ‘And I agree.’

‘Then why did you ask?’

Annoyance strikes so fast she can’t quite keep up.

‘What are you talking about? I didn’t bloody ask anything, you’re the one coming to me, wanting to talk. I have nothing to say.’