Eventually, I give up and tip the soup down the sink. I wander into the living room and put the TV on, but there’s nothing worth watching. I turn it off again and go back into the hall. The sunlight makes the stained glass in the front door cast colorful patterns on the wall, but all I can see is the red-wine stain. Ross has had another go at trying to remove it with bleach and water and it’s definitely faded. But the whole wall will have to be repainted. If I weren’t feeling so bad, I’d go and buy some paint right now. Get it done as soon as possible. At least then I wouldn’t have to look at it every day. Wouldn’t have to be reminded of that awful moment when I first saw Catherine Dawson in my house, saw Ross helping her remove her coat, chatting away to her.

I wander into the study and sit in front of Ross’s Mac. I wonder if he’s been looking for more information on Alice’s death. He’s bound to be curious. I would be, if the tables were turned.

I click on the Safari icon and check the latest items on his browsing history. Oh. He’s been looking at reports on the Epilepsy Research website, specifically ones that focus on pregnancy and childbirth. My breath catches at the back of my throat and any resentment I’ve been harboring for him saying thank you to Catherine for the flowers disappears. He might be a GP, but he’s never been a dad-in-waiting before. He needs reassurance just as much as I do.

Suddenly, the urge to talk to Mum is overwhelming. I don’t care what we decided. She’s my mother and I need to speak to her.

—

“Lizzie, I can’t believe you didn’t tell us straightaway.”

“I wanted to, believe me. But we thought it best to wait until…”

“You’d decided what to do.”

“What do you mean? Mum, surely you don’t think we’d…”

They’ve put me on loudspeaker again. Dad’s saying something in the background, but I can’t make it out.

“Sorry, darling, I shouldn’t finish your sentences. Bad habit of mine.”

I take a deep breath and exhale slowly. I can’t believe she’d even think such a thing. She of all people. “Mum, we never even considered…”

“Of course not, darling, I didn’t mean anything by it. I don’t even know why I said it. It’s wonderful news. Here, your dad wants a word.”

“Congratulations, Pumpkin. You must be thrilled.”

I can’t help hearing a thread of anxiety run through his upbeat words, or maybe it’s just a projection of my own. “We are. It was a real surprise.”

“These things often are….”