‘If it comes to it, Gemma won’t be alone, and neither will your child.’ Her throat caught on child. She turned to smile at me. ‘And, Gemma, your mum will come round, I’m sure of that. No one can resist a baby.’

She was meant to be my rock. But as I approach the flat, I’m wondering if her change of heart means I need to think again. I can postpone the treatment right up until the last moment, until they thaw an embryo to prepare it for transfer. Should I? Whenever I think about Andrew, I want our child so badly.

But when I was with Dan in Ashton Court I wanted him more than anything else.

Logic tells me you can’t compare the two: one comes from love and a deep, human desire to reproduce. We wouldn’t be here without that need.

But you could argue that we wouldn’t be here without lust, either. The way I felt with Dan on Thursday night, nothing else mattered but the need for his body next to mine. For him to kiss me, touch me, fuck me.

The memory makes me horny again, before shame hits me hard. It was one-sided anyway. It didn’t feel like that at the time, but something stopped him and he hasn’t bothered to get in touch since.

I’m nowhere near as desirable to him as he is to me. Plus, this might not be about Dan as a person. He could be my brain’s way of checking I am doing the right thing.

That’s one of the many downsides to trying to conceive this way. There’s no passion involved in pills and jabs to the tummy, probes and scans of the uterus. Instead of letting yourself get carried along by a short wave of desire, conception becomes a major project, each step a new test of commitment.

I felt so lonely when I left this morning. After seeing Isabel, it’s even worse.

As we approach home, Bear lets out a deep sigh, and his paws tremble as he runs in his dreams. He loves sleeping almost as much as Andrew did. I turn off the engine, pick him up and carry him up the stairs. His coat smells of biscuit and Isabel’s Aveda shampoo.

I plonk him on the sofa and fill the kettle for yet another mug of bloody camomile tea. With his hair all fluffed up from his emergency bath, Bear looks even more like the dog on the front of our book.

It’s not Isabel’s advice I need, but Andrew’s sweet, comforting memories. His words never fail me.

Chapter 19: Dan

For once the buzzing isn’t all in my head. It’s real insects, waking me up. I bat them away as I remember where I am: the back porch of Angelica’s chalet, in a sleeping bag.

I crept out here last night when the smell of bleach in the house made my eyes water and I longed for fresh air.