“Older names seem to be coming back now, don’t they? What were your grandmothers called?”

I pull a face. “I’m not calling her Marjory or Daphne, thank you very much.”

Catherine laughs. “No, maybe not. Mine was called Dorothy. I’m guessing that’s not in the running either.” Her face softens. “Alice and I used to call her Nanny Dot.”

A thought has just occurred to me. If my instincts are right, and this baby really is a girl, maybe I should call her Alice as a way of honoring her memory. Does Catherine think so, too? Is that why she brought up the story about Alice in Wonderland? Is that why she’s so keen to help me choose a name?

I take a sip of coffee and pretend to read the blurb on the back of one of the books. The urge to say Alice’s name out loud, to hear the soft, whispering sound of it, is overwhelming. I press my lips together. It’s one thing to name a child after a grandparent or an older relative, but to name them after someone who died in such terrible circumstances, and at such a young age—no, I couldn’t. I shiver. It makes me uneasy just thinking about it.

“Perhaps you need to wait till she’s born before you decide,” Catherine says.

I put the book down. “Yes.” I feel a sudden urge to confide in her about my fears surrounding the birth. And, more important, what happens afterward, when Ross has gone back to work and I’m on my own in the house with a newborn baby.

I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately, but every time I’ve tried talking to him about it he says what he always says when I worry about something that hasn’t happened yet—that there’s no point getting all worked up about something I have no control over and that I need to relax and take things one day at a time.

I never imagined I’d be thinking this, but I bet Catherine will be able to put my mind at rest. After all, she’s a nurse now and, though she isn’t a mother herself, she knows what it’s like to look after a newborn. While the scan has reassured me that the baby is safe and well for now, there are so many other questions troubling me. Like, how will my body cope with sleepless nights and the stress of being a new mother? What if I start having seizures again? And what if I have one when I’m alone with the baby and drop her? It’s my biggest fear.

Seeing the baby wriggling around on the monitor this morning, wonderful though it was, has brought all my anxieties to the surface.

“Lizzie?” Catherine says. “What’s wrong?”