We’re unsure where to go so head straight to A and E but they send us to the maternity wing. They must have phoned ahead to say to expect us because a kind-faced nurse greets us and ushers me onto a ward where two women, both in different stages of pregnancy, recline on beds, strapped to machines. The smell of disinfectant is cloying. I’m too terrified even to cry as the nurse instructs me to lie on the bed. My palms are clammy as I hold Tom’s hand. After I explain about the blood, the nurse scuttles off and returns moments later with an ultrasound device. She pulls the thin blue curtains around us, her demeanour calm. My face is burning but my body is cold with dread. Tom looks ashen. Mum hovers on the other side of the bed, for once not knowing what to say. The nurse, Gail, pulls up my jumper and I fold the waistband of my jogging bottoms down so that she can get to my abdomen, my hands trembling. She flashes me a cheery smile but I can tell by her face that she’s concerned, her expression set in concentration as she stares at the screen while moving the probe slowly across my stomach. My chest feels tight and I glance at Tom and I shake my head sadly. We’ve lost it.

Then Gail looks up at us all with a wide smile and I want to cry with relief. ‘Baby’s heartbeat sounds fine,’ she says. ‘You could have a UTI, which might be causing the spotting. I’ll take a urine test, but still be careful and keep an eye on things, and if there’s any more spotting, call us straight away.’ Gail strides off to get a vial for me to pee in and then Mum and Tom are hugging me, both at the same time.

By the time we get home, armed with a course of antibiotics, the infection having been confirmed, and a number to phone if there are any more issues, it’s gone midnight.

We let ourselves in, Tom and I still giddy with relief. ‘I’ve never been so frightened,’ I say, as we step into the hallway. It’s put everything into perspective and from now on I’ll be doing everything in my power to protect this pregnancy. I cup my stomach defensively, silently vowing to keep the baby safe whatever the cost.

I expect Snowy to come bounding over to us, but there’s no sign of him.

‘It feels cold in here,’ observes Mum. She’s only wearing her little tweed jacket over a fairly skimpy blouse, but she’s right: there’s a draught coming from the back of the house. Tom switches the light on, walking down the hall towards the kitchen. When he pushes the door open I hear him gasp. ‘What the fuck?’