‘For being such a good husband.’ She stroked his thigh. She wasn’t going to tell him yet, not until the time was absolutely right. The food was in the boot, all the ingredients for his favourite meal, and a bottle of wine. She’d only have a sip to celebrate and that would be the last alcohol she’d touch until the baby was born. She wasn’t going to do anything that might remotely jeopardise the health of her child. Their child. The child they’d been waiting for for almost three years. Their doctor had insisted there was no medical reason for her inability to conceive. She was fine. Jonathon was fine. There was no need yet for intervention, they just had to keep trying. They were young, fit and healthy. Jonathon’s job meant he was under a lot of stress, but other than that all they needed was lots of sex and a bit of luck. They’d had lots of sex, all right, thought Trish, with a smile. It had always been great, from the very beginning.

‘What are you smiling at?’ asked Jonathon, putting the car in gear and driving away from the kerb. He pushed his way into the traffic without indicating, and waved a careless thanks to a BMW that had had to brake sharply to let him in.

‘Nothing,’ she said. She wanted to tell him there and then, but she wanted it to be perfect. She wanted it to be a moment they’d both remember for ever.

‘Come on, come on,’ muttered Jonathon. There was a set of traffic lights ahead. Jonathon groaned as they turned red. ‘See that?’ he said. ‘Now we’re stuck here.’

‘There’s no rush,’ she said. She looked across at him. He was so good-looking. Tall, broad-shouldered, with a mop of black hair that kept falling across his face. Perfect teeth– a toothpaste-advert smile.

He grinned at her, the grin of a mischievous schoolboy who had never grown up. ‘What is it?’ he asked.

‘What?’

‘You. You’re smiling like the cat that got the cream.’

She wanted to tell him. She wanted to grab him and kiss him and hug him and tell him he was going to be a father. But she shook her head. ‘Nothing,’ she said.

A large black motorcycle pulled up next to them. The pillion passenger leaned down so that he could look into the car. For a moment Trish thought he wanted to ask directions. Then she saw the gun, and frowned. It was so unexpected that for a few seconds it didn’t register. Then time seemed to stop and she saw everything clearly. The gun was a dull grey automatic in a brown-gloved hand. The pillion passenger wore a bright red full-face helmet with a black visor. The driver had a black helmet, his visor also impenetrable. Men without faces. The driver revved the engine. The passenger held the gun with both hands.