‘We’re really going up?’

My dad keeps hold of Bear’s lead – neither is brilliant with heights, so they’re staying on the ground. The pilot’s a rugged man with a burnished face, from sailing a little too close to the sun. Dan helps me climb in and, although I’m capable of doing it alone, it makes me feel cared for.

I’ve finally hit the glowing stage that the pregnancy books promise. I’d been nervous that my changing body would freak us both out when our relationship turned more physical.

It hasn’t been a problem . . .

‘Prepare yourselves for lift-off,’ the pilot says as he lets the ropes go.

The roar of the burner takes me by surprise, but that’s replaced by the gentle thrill of our ascent. We hold on to each other, making a triangle: me, Dan, Casey. And, inside me, the promise of a fourth person.

We told Casey the last time she came to see us. At first she was shocked, but then she admitted that a brother or sister had been on the secret wish list she put together alongside the public one. And although Dan and I sat up late afterwards, worrying about whether we were raising her hopes – and ours – by talking about the future, it felt right.

Angelica was less than thrilled, but she’s enjoying her weekends to herself, allowed Dan to do some emergency DIY at the chalet, and has begun counselling to help her see the world as a safe place again. Casey’s progress has helped. Her tumour will always be there, but for now she’s doing well: she started back at secondary school and, after a rocky few days, found friends who are allowing her to embrace her inner nerd. Science thrills her – she’s talked about becoming a radiographer or a nuclear physicist, ‘because I am a proton super-fan’.

We’re travelling with only wispy clouds as our companions now, and I think of Andrew and the balloon flight we took to celebrate finishing his treatment, and how I feel as safe with Dan now as I did with him then.

‘Look, I can see the suspension bridge,’ Casey says. ‘And that must be your flat down there, Gemma.’

And now we’ll tell her our second piece of news.

Dan nudges me, points towards Coldharbour Road on the outer edge of Bishopston. Not as chi-chi as Clifton, or as busy as the Wells Road. A trampoline in the garden of the house next door helps us to spot the right place from on high.

‘Take a look down there,’ Dan says and Casey squints, looking for a landmark or something beautiful.

‘What am I looking for?’

‘That’s our new home,’ I say. ‘And your home too. We’re renting out our two places and moving in together.’

‘Wow!’ Casey hugs me first, then her dad, but the straight line of her mouth tells me she’s not completely happy. ‘It looks miles away from BayCaff and Pepe and the patisserie. Won’t it be boring?’