And Sarah steps onto the runway and turns to face the wind, eyes closed, her arms outstretched as though she is flying, and Lissa stands beside her, and does the same, feels the wind beneath her as she lifts her arms.

Hannah

SHE IS TIRED. THE SPRING GIVES WAY TO EARLY SUMMER AND the heat. Then the weather changes; it grows cooler and begins to rain. She feels tired still.

One day, when she is at work, she puts her head on her desk and falls asleep. When she gets home she climbs into bed and pulls the covers over her head and sleeps deeply. She wakes in the middle of the night thirsty, and goes to get water.

I’m pregnant, she thinks, standing by the sink. The thought seems to come from above her, beyond her.

She goes to the bathroom; in the back of the cupboard there is a box of old tests. She pees on one and sits in the darkness. She does not have to wait long; almost immediately a strong line appears in the second box.

She looks at it. She looks and looks and looks.

IT IS A fizzing in her blood.

It is anxiety.

It is great piercing shafts of joy, joy so pure she has to stand and hold on to something and wait for it to pass.

It is fear.

She has lost before. She knows how losing looks and feels, and what it leaves you with.

She tells no one. Not Nathan. Not her mother. Not Cate. She knows it may not last.

On the weekends she sleeps late, and wakes full of dreams. She sits in the bath and looks at her toes.

Cate

SHE TAKES THE TRAIN TO CHARING CROSS, THE SUBWAY TO Bethnal Green, and then the old bus route up Cambridge Heath Road, gets off the bus on Mare Street, and walks along the canal, past the gas tower, past the gate to Sam’s old studio, right down Broadway Market. It is a Thursday, and the road is fairly quiet, although the tables outside the deli are full. At the top of the road she turns left, following the terrace of Victorian houses to the end, where she stops, looking up at the tall house, the high windows, then walks on, through the park, where the London trees are in full splendid leaf.

The café was Lissa’s choice—a bakery in one of the arches by the train station—and Lissa is waiting for her already, sitting outside. She stands hurriedly when she sees Cate approach.

“I got you a coffee.” She gestures to the table before her.

“Thanks,” Cate says, sitting down.

Lissa is dressed soberly, jeans and a plain T-shirt, no makeup. She looks different. Her face, for so long seemingly immune to time, has begun to be claimed by it. There are grays in among the blond of her hair.

“I wasn’t sure you’d see me,” Lissa says.