But for Leonard and Sylvie, the baby never came. There were just the miscarriages, and the urgent times in between with all their pressures and longings. For they both wanted children. He pushed himself to perform loving sex — he was sure Sylvie didn’t notice — but more and more it was a performance.

They were told of a medical procedure for women with a history of miscarriages. Sylvie opted to have it with what would be her last pregnancy, the one that produced Andrew. During the pregnancy Sylvie took things easy. Very easy. Lots of cuddling, lots of affection, but nothing vigorous, and certainly not sex. She apologised to Leonard, she really felt very bad about it. But he reassured her there was nothing to worry about: this was their baby, and they were both looking after it.

Andrew was born two weeks early, a strong and healthy baby. While Leonard knew that the subject of sex would eventually arise, for the time being he and Sylvie were filled with the joys of their miracle baby, and exhausted by the common stresses of first-time parents. And poor Sylvie suffered a barrage of post-partum complaints. She kept apologising for not being sexually active, and he kept reassuring her there was nothing to apologise for. She was sleeping badly, too, not just the baby and the night-time feeds, his snoring was keeping her awake. It was a reluctant confession, he had to drag it out of her, but immediately he moved into the spare room.

Once out of the marital bedroom, all the love he felt for his wife found ample physical expression. In the kitchen, on the couch, strolling through a city park, he wanted to touch her, to hold her. Feeling her in his arms brought a great sense of comfort, and an intimacy too — different from sex, deeper and more meaningful, he thought. They would cradle their baby in their linked arms, and he would experience an explosion of gratitude. This was his family.

The love and physical closeness Leonard felt for Sylvie only increased as Andrew grew. His favourite time of day was after dinner, with Andrew asleep, and he and Sylvie on the couch holding hands, while they listened to the wireless or watched the TV. When they were at a restaurant with friends, he insisted on sitting next to her rather than the usual splitting-up of husbands and wives. He liked to be connected with her no matter where they were.

They were viewed by their friends as a loving couple, and so they were, in every respect except the matter of making love. Leonard, it seemed to Sylvie, had accepted their situation — if not mentioning something could be taken as acceptance — but she was puzzled, increasingly so, as the months and years passed. By the time Andrew started kindergarten, Leonard was still in the spare room. Sylvie would have liked to discuss the issue with one of her friends, but such things were not talked about, not in her circle; and while Maggie might have some answers, the topic was too embarrassing to raise with her sister. Sylvie knew there were books that might enlighten her; she’d actually seen one at the local library called The Pleasures of Married Love, but had been far too self-conscious to borrow it.