Cora danced around my kitchen to ‘Don’t Kill My Vibe’ by Sigrid while I ate peanut butter straight from the jar. She kept taking strategic pauses to glance at the pregnancy test on the table between us. When she started to dance again each time, I knew it mustn’t be quite cooked. Meanwhile, I couldn’t bring myself to look at the test window for fear that there would be one too many lines waiting there. I swallowed another mouthful of butter and caught Cora’s eye.

‘How are you dancing while this is happening?’

She paused, panted, and dipped her finger into the open jar. ‘Don’t mind me.’ She licked her finger clean and then landed hard in the seat opposite me. ‘How do you want me to be acting?’

‘I don’t know, like you’re worried?’ I snatched the jar back and picked up where I’d left off. ‘Besides, isn’t this more a job that you should call Molly for?’

Cora spluttered a laugh. ‘Can you imagine Molly on a pregnancy scare? If you weren’t free, it would have been Betty or Lily.’

‘Pah, why them? They’re the least matern— Oh.’

She clicked her fingers. ‘Got it in one. Freedom to choose what you do with your own body? Those pair live for this shit.’ The song came to a natural close and suddenly Cora’s bolshie attitude fizzled out, too. She exhaled hard. ‘Fucking hell, now I have to look.’

I put my hand over the test. ‘Does Hamish know this is happening?’

‘No.’

‘Do you know what you’ll do if – you know?’

‘No.’ She pulled in a long belly breath. ‘You’re touching something that I’ve peed on.’

I took my hand away. ‘That’s what friends do.’ I grabbed her hand, then, and leaned forward to look at the test before she could. ‘We have a winner!’ I held the dry end and flashed her a single line in the small window. With my other hand, I held up the paperwork with a clear picture of a negative result printed at the top.

‘Oh fuck.’ She dropped her forehead to the table. ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck, thank fuck.’

I laughed. ‘I thought you weren’t nervous?’

‘Oh, sod off and give me the peanut butter.’ She yanked the jar away from me. ‘And wash your hands, you filthy—’ The sound of my doorbell cut across her. ‘You’re expecting someone?’ she asked, a coated finger midway to her mouth.

I wasn’t. But when I opened the front door there was Monty. There was something uncanny about the figure of him hovering outside; I realised he’d probably only ever been here with Rowan before then. And that brought to the forefront a quiet panic.

‘Is Rowan okay?’

‘Completely. Nothing has happened; everyone is safe.’ But he hesitated. ‘Can we talk?’

‘Come in.’ I stepped back. ‘Cora’s here.’