Bangkok is the only other capital city I’d had the chance to visit with Jack. If I were there now, overlooking the Chao Phraya instead of the Thames, I’m not sure I’d have time to reflect. The place moves by so quickly, even late at night. From my experience, anyway. Oh, how we’d wanted to return there one day; find the man sat in the shopping trolley. We’d invented a Saturday night drinking game, coming up with the reasons he might’ve been there – in protest; to sunbathe; waiting for a Big Mac; posing for art students – and the lamest guess had to be drink. I start wondering, again, what really is behind that picture – just as Jack wondered before he died – what that man is doing right now. Alone in the big city, perhaps. Like me. Like Si.

I check my phone, mindful of not ignoring Beth if she’s messaged.

My mum’s been texting again.

I have a job for you. It requires your crafting skills!

Well, I do excel with a needle and thread. Or a glue stick. I click on the next text.

It’s for the wedding. Come home and I’ll explain. Love you. Mum x

Forty minutes later I arrive at the flat. On the fridge, there’s a space where the Mamma Mia! tickets had been. The magnet – a Man United shirt – has nothing to hold up any more. One of our plans is done and dusted. The gas bill was paid weeks ago, too. I take it down, rip it in half, chuck it into the recycling.

‘So, what next?’ I cry.

Skiing lessons, holidays, birthday celebrations …

‘I can’t … I can’t do anything else without you, Jack.’

I go to the bedroom. The moonlight filters through the open blinds, shedding a low glow onto the king-size bed, which takes up the majority of this room. I want to see Jack in his boxers, sitting up against the pillows on his iPad with his bare feet crossed, wriggling his chunky toes. I want to see him tucked up and flicking through a paperback filled with scientific facts about what makes humans behave in certain ways. I want to see him crashed out; or fuck it, I want to see him passed out drunk, stinking of ale and snoring so loud I have to wallop him on the back just to get a minute’s peace.

‘Jack?’ I whisper.

I step away, back to the lounge, and curl up on the sofa. I stay exactly where I am, my head upon Rudolf, where it’s been every night since Jack died.

Si was right. Nobody should force those firsts.

13

It’s Saturday and I’m a week late. I’m going to nip out to buy a pregnancy test. Today could be the day when that something I’ve been waiting for happens.