The women at church, in various stages of pregnancy. Sweet and clean like dough, placid hands on their bellies, a faraway look on their faces. Their soft faces, shiny hair. Their air of knowing something none of the rest of us do.

Grace, she would call it if it was a girl, and something like Theodore for a boy. 66

She closes her eyes. Pastor Warren prayed over each of them individually before they set off. His strong, warm hands on her head: if she concentrates, she can still feel the pulse of energy from them. Lord, since it is through Your mercy this child of Yours has this mission, let her not lose heart. Be she hard pressed on every side, let her not be crushed. Persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed. Let her carry in her body the death of Jesus, so that through her body the life of Jesus may also be revealed. Amen.

They had ended by singing one of her favourite hymns, ‘There Is a Green Hill’, which Pastor Rick said was appropriate, as they were going to the Emerald Isle.

Steve had carried on playing the guitar after the final verse, picking out sweet, intricate, mournful chords. The familiar feeling rushes through her again; a yearning so bad it aches.

In the youth hostel they unroll the banners and posters they made back home, smooth the worst of the creases away and tape them to bamboo poles. The biggest one is six feet long, bright-blue letters on a background they’ve painted with yellow stars. BEFORE I FORMED YOU IN THE WOMB I KNEW YOU, it says, and underneath they’ve squeezed in Jer. 1:5, for people who might not immediately know the reference. The call of Jeremiah is one of Pastor Warren’s favourite stories. ‘Alas, Lord God,’ Jeremiah says, ‘I do not know how to speak, for I am only 67a child.’ But the Lord tells him: ‘Do not say, “I am only a child.” For to everyone I send you, you must go, and all that I command you, you must speak.’ Then He reaches out His hand, touches Jeremiah’s mouth, and says to him: ‘Behold, I have put My words into your mouth.’

Pastor Rick leads prayers and tells them to try to get some rest ahead of tomorrow. He and Jen hug and say goodnight; even though they’re married, and could have asked for a private room, they’re staying in the dorms like the others. She looks away, to give them some privacy. Rebekah makes a heart shape with her fingers. They are all praying that Pastor Rick and Jen, who have been married almost two years now, be blessed, as soon as possible, with the children they desire.

It isn’t going to happen if you sleep in separate rooms, a mean, snide part of her thinks. She pushes the treacherous thought away.