I was pretty quiet at work the next day. I know Annie was worried. Midafternoon, after barely a word out of me all day, she said, “Right, come on. Let’s go to the café and have some cake. Something’s clearly bothering you.”

Despite my protests I found myself outdoors and walking down the street to a café—not the one that Tom had taken me to, thank God—realizing that all those years of child-rearing had turned Annie into someone who couldn’t be messed with. I had a fleeting thought of my own child. Was that how I’d be in ten years’ time? I had a horrible feeling that this baby might play me like a fiddle, just like her father did. Whoever her father was.

Annie ordered cake and I had a fruit salad and we sat outside under a parasol, enjoying the summer sun.

“What’s up?” she asked. “Come on, you can tell me.”

I felt terrible. How could I tell her that last Friday I’d had a DNA test on the fetus and that I was waiting to see who its father was? She’d be horrified. She was my best friend. We’d worked together for years. We shared every secret, every stupid thing we’d done. She used to say that whenever she did something embarrassing she’d think, I can’t wait to tell Emma about this. But this was way, way beyond embarrassing. And maybe if the test results showed Harry was the father, I could tell her about it and we could both cringe, but not now.

So I just said, “I’m worried about the baby. Whether it will be okay,” and she gave me a long look as though she knew that wasn’t it, but talked kindly and firmly about why I shouldn’t worry unless there was something to worry about.

“You’re fit and healthy,” she said. “You eat well. You don’t drink too much.” She gave a little cough. “Nowadays.” We both laughed, remembering some parties we’d been to when we were young. “Just enjoy being pregnant. If there’s something to worry about, the doctors will tell you soon enough. Don’t anticipate problems.”

“I don’t remember you being like that,” I said, remembering her reaction when she had eaten a cracker with Brie on it then realized it was on the forbidden list. “You worried all the time.”

“We’re not talking about me.” She finished her coffee. “And while we’re talking about you, who was that guy at your house yesterday?”

I’d known I wouldn’t get away with that. Since she’d had children Annie was like a bloodhound, able to sniff out trouble a mile off.

“Oh, him.” I thought quickly. “He lives down the road.”

“What did he want? You didn’t seem very happy to see him.”