He stood up and began to head towards the bathroom.

‘Mark…’

He stopped in his tracks and turned back. He looked slightly apprehensive, like someone who has almost got away with something but not quite.

‘If I’d told you I was pregnant at the time, would it have made any difference?’

‘Jenny, please… is there any point in raking over all of this now?’

‘But do you think it would have done?’

‘How am I supposed to know? The fact is, you didn’t.’

‘That lets you off the hook nicely.’

‘What did you say?’

‘Oh, nothing. I’m sorry. I’m just worried about Ava.’

‘You never know, once she’s had a bit of time to digest it she might actually be pleased,’ Mark said. ‘After all, who’d want Sean as a father? It’s really Ellie who’s the one who’s got the rough deal here.’

With that he went off, leaving me to try and decide whether it was reasonable for me to feel angry with him, or whether I was the one who was responsible for all of this and there was absolutely nobody else to share the blame.

That night I went over and over what I’d done, while Mark slept peacefully beside me. If I’d had a clear conscience I might have been able to sleep too. But I still couldn’t see what I could have done any differently. How could what I’d done have been the wrong thing to do, when I hadn’t really had a choice? But somehow, it had been wrong, and my only hope was that Ava would forgive me.

It wasn’t particularly charitable of me. Or loving. But I couldn’t help but suspect that Mark had been so willing to overlook my not having told him about Ava because he knew he wouldn’t have been interested at the time. Even if he couldn’t quite bring himself to admit it.

When Mark had come back into my life I’d let myself believe that this really could be a fairy tale, and all the years of effort were about to be rewarded by a princessy ending: the new husband, the new baby, the new home.

But now Ava knew what I’d taken such care to hide from everybody all these years. I’d failed her, and she knew it. And the only thing that could save me now was whether she could bring herself to forgive me.

I’d never forgotten Mark. All the time Ava was growing up, I’d thought about him often. From time to time Sean must have done, too, though we never spoke about him. After all, we had Ava to remind us.

Mark was there in her face, her mannerisms, her bones. I’d never realised before what a powerful thing genetic heritage is: I’d never seen that much of either of my parents in myself, and I didn’t think I looked at all like my sister. But there was Ava: fair-haired, blue-eyed, neat-featured. Mark’s role in making her had been impossible to forget.