‘Don’t give up. I long to see you settled down and starting a family of your own. I mean I know I’ve got Natasha and the devil child, as she calls him, but I’ve always dreamt of being surrounded by lots of lovely grandchildren.’

‘Mum,’ I say in a warning tone. This is a conversation we’ve had a few times lately and it never ends well.

‘You don’t even need a partner any more,’ she persists after a short silence.

‘I’m sorry, what?’

‘You could go to one of those sperm banks. Apparently, they’re all the rage with your generation.’

‘Mum!’

‘What?’

‘I’m not using a sperm donor, OK?’

‘Shame. I read somewhere that you get to choose the donor based on all sorts of attributes. You could have a Scandinavian professor or something. Do you think it would be a good idea to freeze some eggs, just in case? I’m sure your father could help with the cost if necessary.’

‘Are you for real?’

‘Just thinking of all the possibilities, darling. More tea?’

* * *

Unsurprisingly, my conversation with my mother hasn’t really done anything to calm me down, and I still feel like a lead weight is sitting on my chest as I drive away. Luke may have no difficulty shifting the blame on to other people, but I can’t just shrug off my guilt like that. The rational part of me knows that I’m just as much of a victim of Luke’s duplicity as Cindy is, but that doesn’t stop me feeling responsible. My mind is a vortex of ‘What ifs’ and ‘If onlys’ as I thread my way through the afternoon school-run traffic. The pavements are crammed with teenagers in school uniforms, and I’m trying to distract myself by casting my mind back to the simpler times of my own schooldays when a street sign catches my eye. I must have driven past it without noticing it thousands of times before, so it takes me a moment to work out why it’s standing out now. It’s the name of the street on the piece of paper that Jonathan Barwell gave me.

It’s just idle curiosity, I tell myself as I switch on my indicator and make the turn. I can’t even remember which number is his house; I’m just driving down here to get a sense of the kind of neighbourhood he and Will would live in. In my mind, I can picture him in one of those 1930s semis, with a concrete driveway and a garage to the side. Inside would be fairly dark, with lots of antique furniture and maybe a grandfather clock, its tick being the only thing disturbing the silence as Jonathan works on his crossword.