And then they are naked, and Dan looks out of the window at the sky to make sure he remembers exactly what shade it is. He’s decided to paint his whole house that colour, but then Atticus halts, presses his forehead to Dan’s briefly before rolling off and saying, ‘Sorry. I got carried away.’

Dan wants to say, ‘It’s fine. Better than fine. Better than anything in the world. Carry on,’ but he can’t because those lines belong to the Dan who lives inside him, so he says, ‘Oh, right, yes. Sorry. Me too.’ And then there is the slightly awkward re-dressing dance, buttons that moments ago were wrenched from holes now being carefully re-done. Off-balance hopping on the spot as jeans are tugged up. Zips too loud in the silence as Dan wonders what he did wrong.

‘Nothing,’ Atticus says, taking Dan’s face in his hands. ‘You did nothing wrong. I just need to know you’re sure.’

‘I am,’ Dan says, not sounding it, and Atticus laughs, kisses him once and says, ‘I’ll know you are when you demand I carry on.’

He heads out of the door and Dan locks it behind him, knees still knocked, ego, too. Then he blows out the candles, whistles for Fitz and goes to bed, where sleep doesn’t come.

Lizzie

(I don’t know what to tell you)

LIZZIE DREAMS SHE’S IN her classroom, an autumn wind plastering russet-brown leaves against the large windows. The children have their heads down, working. Pencils scraping a symphony. She’s drowsy after lunch, hands on bulbous stomach, swollen feet resting on an upturned wastepaper bin, when she feels arms and feet thrashing inside her, the movements frantic. It feels as if her baby is drowning, is attacking her. This pain has teeth. She pulls up her blouse and watches elbows and knees protruding through her Plasticine stomach. She can almost see the baby, kicking and punching inside its globe of amniotic soup, tugging on the cord, ringing a bell. Stopping the world.

Eventually the seas inside her calm. Lizzie waits for her baby boat to right itself again, but she feels the head has become dislodged from her pelvis. From where it should be. Outside the sky darkens quickly and without warning, late September dying dramatically. She’d only fallen asleep for a moment and suddenly everything has changed.

Fear wakes her now, visceral and suffocating. Lizzie lies listening to her heartbeat, feels her sweat cool. Breathes in for four and out again. Pictures a square in her mind.

She’s dreamed this dream over and over, the details never changing. Sometimes it’s so bad she wakes Lenny with her cries, her pleas for it to stop. She turns to face him now and sees he’s snoring lightly next to her, one pale leg over the covers, arms above his head.