And then there’s the whole issue of whether I should even be messaging a vulnerable child, however sad her situation.

I only leave the flat to walk Bear, who hugs the tiny strips of shade created by the buildings, to avoid the pavement that is so hot under his paws. He doesn’t protest when I bring him home again.

What next? I need to be busy, busy, busy. The bank commission. Housework. Accounts. DIY. Anything to distract me from Lustful Thoughts. Once the transfer has happened, and my future is firmly in the lap of the fertility gods, I will let myself think about Dan, but until then it’s too much.

Too late.

Because I’m already thinking of him: his face. His voice. That kiss.

Nothing about the connection makes any sense from this distance – but that all changes as soon as I am close to him again, breathing the same air, sensing the beat of his heart.

The only thing I’ve ever wanted with the same intensity is Andrew’s child. How can those two desires coexist? One started years ago, but only built to this pitch because it was fed by love and sadness and hope. The other began with a single glance.

I know logically that you can’t compare a silly crush with the monumental choice Andrew and I made together. But everything changed when Dan walked into my life.

My WhatsApp buzzes. It’s Casey:

We missed you today, especially my dad. Would croissants make you feel better? We could do a special delivery for you and Bear.

She’s added at least thirty crying emojis underneath. I desperately want to message her back, but instead I dial Dad’s number. It rings for so long I almost end the call, but then he answers.

‘Hey, Little Gem.’ He’s out of breath.

‘What are you up to?’

‘Been trying to fix the garden awning. The mechanism’s seizing up, and your mother can’t bear the noise the hydraulics are making.’

I picture my mum watching through the kitchen window while Dad stands on the stepladder, the sun and sweat making his eyes water, as he oils and twists and tweaks. He’s a perfectionist, for her. Nothing in the house is allowed to be bodged: every problem solved, every challenge faced is an act of love.

‘I don’t want to interrupt.’

‘Ah no, no, Gem. I need a breather anyhow.’ I hear the clack as he unfolds a garden chair, the slight sigh as he sits. ‘Hot enough for you?’

‘Even Bear doesn’t want to be out in this.’ Now I’ve called, I’m scared to speak my doubts out loud.

‘Is this about tomorrow?’

‘Yes.’ My voice is small. ‘I don’t think I can do this on my own.’ That wasn’t what I expected to say.

‘Except you won’t be, sweetheart. You won’t ever be on your own, because you’ve got us. Me and Mum, and Laura and Mel. And Isabel too. We’ll be there, all lined up, ready to help care for the baby. And for you.’