“Should I tell you the truth of that, Cate? It’s like this.” She takes Cate’s hand, lifts her sleeve. “It was about this big. About seven weeks old. A sac to hold a baby. It’s fairly monstrous actually. It’s not the sort of thing that’s supposed to be seen. It’s supposed to stay inside you—to grow and grow and grow until it can’t grow anymore. You know what that feels like, don’t you? A baby, growing inside you?”

Their breath plumes together in the freezing air.

“But I didn’t tell you. I didn’t speak of it. Not to anyone.”

“Why?” says Cate.

“Because you were pregnant at the time. Because I didn’t want to upset you. Because I felt ashamed.”

There is a slackening. Cate’s hand drops to her side, her shoulders slump.

“I’m sorry,” says Cate. “You should have told me.” Her voice is thick.

“No,” says Hannah. “You should have asked.”

IT IS LATE when they arrive at the hotel. The room is smaller than she imagined. “Where’s the bathroom?” asks Nathan.

“I was too late to book the en suite,” she says wearily. “I think it’s down the hall.” She is cold. She got cold out there on the bridge.

He nods, goes to his bag. “Can you tell me where you packed my toothbrush then?”

“It’s here.” She takes out her wash bag, hands him his toothbrush.

When he has gone she sits down in the armchair. She sees herself reflected in the driftwood mirror. This stupid black dress. Her makeup, smudged now. All of it broken. All of it over. It is all so absurd.

IN THE MORNING two trays are left outside their door. She brings them in and puts them on the table. Nathan sits up in bed, pulls on his jeans. “I’m going outside,” he says. When he comes back he smells of cigarettes.

She calls the restaurant and cancels the lunch reservation.

There will be no lunch. There will be no oysters or artisan bread or Aylesbury lamb. There will be no children. She kills things before they are even born. He does not touch her. In a way she is grateful. It is as though she has broken into tiny pieces inside, with only her thin skin holding it all together, and if she is touched, she might shatter—might never find the pieces to put herself back together again.

They walk along the beach without speaking. They look out at the roiling sea, then they climb back into the car. They drive back up the M2 to London. She pretends to sleep. They drop off the rental car. They take the bus back to Hackney.

They walk up the three flights of stairs into their flat. Nathan packs a bag.

Lissa