There was no mention of the passion we’d shared the night before. No shared secret smiles or tender touches. As he raced around finding his briefcase and keys, avoiding my eyes, I knew I would have to do something. Annie and I had a solicitor we used when we set up our business. I thought I’d phone her this morning and see if she could recommend someone who could advise me if I decided to leave him.

I’d made toast and though I no longer wanted it now, I took a bite. As soon as the warm, buttered toast was in my mouth, I gagged.

I only just reached the bathroom in time and spat it out. Ugh, it had tasted so weird. Disgusting. I checked the bread and the butter. Both were fine. I drank a glass of water, but could still taste it. It tasted like iron filings. How did I even know what that would taste like?

And then it dawned on me.

Oh no.

I looked at the calendar on the fridge. I knew I’d had my period fairly recently; I’d been to my mum’s house, I remembered, and given her a piece of my mind when she gave the last slice of lemon cake to Harry. I’d had to call her the next day to apologize, blaming my hormones. I checked the dates and groaned.

I couldn’t be. I couldn’t be.

Within half an hour I was at the local supermarket, looking at pregnancy tests. I was so familiar with these tests; I’d used them all over the years but for the last few years I hadn’t bothered. I’d never got up my hopes, never bought one on the off-chance it would spark a positive result. I’d learned the hard way not to let myself do that.

That day I bought four different tests, then went back for a fifth. I wasn’t leaving anything to chance. I went through the self-service checkout and flashed them through, holding them carefully, as though they were unexploded bombs.

Of course, they were positive. All of them were.

My first thought was of Harry. Be careful what you wish for, they say.

No kidding.

CHAPTER 30

Emma

When I sat down with my diary and worked out the dates, things were even worse than I’d thought. Harry and I had slept together twice in the week before he went to Paris and then almost every day since he came back. I can’t even tell you how many times Tom and I had had sex. I haven’t been able to bring myself to think about it. There were none of those happy stomach flutters that I used to have after I first got together with Harry. None of those sudden feelings of doubling over with lust. Just a cold dread every time I thought of what I’d done.