My shoulders soften. “I do feel rather grim this morning.”

Catherine tilts her head and looks at me from under her eyebrows in much the same way my mum does when she’s about to give me some advice. “You must listen to your body, Lizzie. It’s telling you to take it easy.”

“Well, if you insist.”

“I do. Now, what do you want on your toast? Butter and jam? Marmalade? Poached egg?”

I smile. “Butter and jam will be fine. No work today, then?”

She puts her bowl of cereal onto the coffee table and gets up. “I’ve arranged to go in later this morning. I’ve been racing around all week. It’s nice to take things easy for once.”

By the time I’ve drunk my tea and eaten some toast, I’m feeling miles better.

“So how many weeks pregnant are you?” Catherine says. Her face is happy, animated.

“Almost eighteen,” I tell her. “I’ve got another scan next week.”

“Eighteen weeks already! Wow! You hardly show at all. I take it Ross will be going with you?”

I laugh. “He’d better!” I tuck my legs under my bottom. “Yeah, he’s booked the time off from work already.”

“I remember when Mum got pregnant with Alice, how excited I was. I kept looking at the black-and-white photo she brought back from the hospital and convincing myself the baby was waving.”

“Do they still tell you what sex the baby is?”

“Depends on the sonographer, I think. They tend not to, unless you ask them directly. Do you want to know, then?”

“I think I already do know. I mean, obviously I don’t know for sure, but I have a strong feeling I’m going to have a girl.”

For some stupid reason my cheeks go red. It’s that survivor’s guilt thing I still carry around. The knowledge that I’m doing things Alice can’t. Catherine must have noticed because she gives me a sad little smile. “Do you ever wonder what Alice would be like, if she was still here?”

“All the time,” I say, determined not to cry but coming perilously close. “I think…I think she’d look a lot like you.”

Catherine looks pleased at this. She jumps up all of a sudden. “Wait here, I’ve got something to give you. I meant to do it last night, but what with your announcement…”

She runs upstairs and when she comes down again, she has a small photo album with her. She leafs through it and holds it out toward me.

“Do you remember this?” she says.

I stare at the glossy photo and am instantly transported to that summer’s day in the garden at Riley Road. The day Mick Dawson took photos of us with his digital camera. In this one, Alice and I are eating lollipops, both of us doing silly poses, huge grins plastered all over our faces.