‘It’s not a question of whether Dad agrees with you,’ she said, trying to be patient, trying not to snap. ‘It’s a question of listening to Stella and respecting her views.’

Thea made a small sound, almost a laugh, but not quite. ‘She won’t thank you, a year down the line, when she’s stuck here with a kid and her friends have all gone off to uni.’

‘Oh good God, give me strength.’ This was Michael, his voice raised in a sort of frustrated anguish. He brought a fist down hard on the worktop and a potato rolled over the edge and on to the tiled floor. Beatriz stopped peeling and looked at him.

‘God is good,’ she said.

Michael groaned. ‘Beatriz …’

‘No,’ she said, pointing the sharp end of the peeler at him. ‘You should remember that God is good, Michael. You all should.’

There was silence, because no one was much in the mood to tackle Beatriz on the subject of her faith. Upstairs, there were footsteps on the landing and everyone looked at the ceiling. The bathroom door slammed shut.

‘Listen,’ Ali said. ‘If Stella says no, what can we do? We can’t drag her to the clinic by the hair, can we?’

‘No,’ Michael said. ‘But we can talk sense into her, instead of pussyfooting around and “respecting her views”.’

‘Exactly.’ Thea nodded in approval. ‘Well said, Dad.’

Ali glared at her hands. This was a familiar scenario: the combined force of Michael and Thea, wearing her down with logic and mutual self-belief.

‘Suppose she has this baby,’ Michael said, attempting a conciliatory tone. ‘Do we look after it for her while she completes her studies? Do you give up writing, Ali, to play grandma?’

‘Oh, give me a break, Michael. Is that meant to shock me into agreeing with your point of view?’

‘Another baby in this household could only be a gift,’ Beatriz said. ‘A gift from God.’

‘No, actually, it would be a gift from some unnamed and oversexed teenage boy,’ Thea said.

‘Thea McCormack!’ Beatriz, so rarely rattled, used the voice that might once have made the girl hang her head in shame. No longer.

‘Facts of life, I’m afraid. It’s not the Immaculate Conception, Beatriz.’

‘That’s enough,’ Ali said.

Thea flicked her hair away from her face and sighed. ‘This is ridiculous,’ she said. She looked at Michael, who met her gaze and smiled. ‘Dad,’ she said. ‘You’re going to have to sort this out. Mum’s too flaky.’

Michael opened his mouth to speak, but Ali beat him to it. ‘Thea, button it, you’re being objectionable.’

‘You are, sweetheart,’ Michael said. ‘A bit.’

‘Fine.’ Thea’s face took on a chilly, shuttered look. She picked up her phone and began to scroll idly through her messages. A sleek curtain of blonde hair fell over one eye.

‘Dinner will be at seven,’ Beatriz said, fighting for normality.