“Of course I care about your feelings. But…but God, Lizzie! You know how much I fancy Dave. And anyway, I don’t think he did it on purpose. I think maybe he was going to ask you to dance and then he changed his mind at the last minute. Maybe he was worried you’d say no and embarrass him.”

“Embarrass him? You’re having a laugh, aren’t you? You know exactly what he did and you still danced with him, knowing how I’d be feeling. You’re so fucking selfish, Alice Dawson. I hate you!”

I turn on my heels and storm off in the other direction. “In fact,” I shout back at the top of my voice, “I wish you were dead!”

24

NOW

Ross texts just as I’m ladling some soup into a bowl. I’m not really hungry but I have to eat something. All I’ve had today is a tiny square of toast and a banana.

With Dad now. He’s lost so much weight I barely recognize him. I’ll say one thing for him tho—he’s a fighter. Xxx

He’s sent a photo, too. A selfie of the two of them. He’s right. His dad looks really ill.

Before I have a chance to reply, another one comes through. You were right. Maybe you should have come too. Next time, yes? Love you loads. Xxx

Next time. If his dad lasts, that is.

I text him straight back. I’m always right. You should know that by now! Love you too. Xxx

I dunk a piece of bread into my soup and force it down, relieved that I’m not sitting in a nursing home in Aberdeen feeling as queasy as this. According to the pregnancy websites I’ve been poring over, the nausea can last for twelve to fifteen weeks. For some poor women it continues for the entire pregnancy.

I’d love to phone Mum and ask her what it was like for her when she was carrying me, but then I’d have to tell her I’m pregnant and Ross and I have decided to wait till I’m at least twelve weeks before we break the news. I don’t want them worrying. And they will. Of course they will. It’s what they do. It’s what they’ve always done.