‘It’ll be your legacy one day, won’t it, sweetie,’ she says in a sing-song voice, brushing her hand over my daughter’s cheek. Phoebe gurgles and manages a half-smile before dribbling down her chin. I gently bump her up and down on my knee as she grips Susie’s finger. ‘She is gorgeous.’

‘She’s got Ben’s eyes,’ I reply. Susie fell in love as soon as she saw Phoebe and was ecstatic when I asked her to be her joint godmother with Jane.

She’s somewhere in Indonesia currently, due to come home next month and meet her goddaughter. I’ve missed her terribly. She put off travelling for a couple of months and in the end Doctor Lush took a sabbatical and went with her. She’s head over heels and it wouldn’t surprise me if there’s another wedding on the cards.

With Mum’s help and the rest of the proceeds of the house, Ben and I moved out of the flat and bought a three bedroom terrace with a garden. We both attended her wedding, which I’m happy to report was a sober affair. Patrick, who turned out to be one of the nicest men I’ve ever met, got her enrolled onto a treatment programme and after a couple of blips, she hasn’t had a drink for over seven months.

I am adjusting to motherhood now. The apprehension I had all the way through my pregnancy disappeared the moment I looked into Phoebe’s eyes. They were dark and angry. Furious at being pulled from her nice warm cocoon out into the world. I wasn’t sure whether I could do it alone, but I didn’t put pressure on Ben to stand by me. I felt responsible, having taken advantage of him when he came home drunk that night. But Phoebe melted him as soon as she arrived and my heart burst with love and pride for the family I never knew I wanted.

‘Right, my turn for a cuddle. You drink your latte,’ Susie says before whisking Phoebe away to play peekaboo at her reflection in the window.

I sip my coffee, rubbing my fingertips over the semi-colon pendant. I haven’t taken it off this past year.

I bumped into Detective Becker last week at the doctor’s surgery of all places. She was with her daughter, Lily, and I was taking Phoebe for her first set of jabs. We made polite conversation and she commented on my necklace, saying how pretty it was. She smiled, but her eyes carried a sadness. Lily’s name was called first but before she stood, Becker pulled back the sleeve of her coat to reveal a tiny semi-colon tattoo on the inside of her wrist, inked over a jagged scar. It seemed we had more in common than I first thought.