I open my mouth, then close it again. The urge to tell her about the pregnancy clamors at the back of my throat. Something stops me, though. Some instinct it might hit a nerve.

“Not sure, really. Maybe I just need to settle here first.”

“Lizzie,” she says, standing still all of a sudden. “Would it be all right if we did this again sometime? I mean, you probably don’t want to and I wouldn’t blame you at all if you’d rather not, it’s just that, I don’t have many friends here yet and…” She shakes her head and starts walking again. “Sorry, it’s a stupid idea. I didn’t mean to put you on the spot like that. Forget I ever said anything.”

“No, it’s okay, really. I…I think I’d like that, too.”

—

“I must say, I’m surprised,” Ross says, when I tell him that evening of my walk with Catherine.

He’s just shed his clothes into the laundry box and is standing on the landing, completely starkers. I’m still getting used to this part of living together. I wish I was as unselfconscious about my body as he is of his.

He walks into the bathroom and starts running the shower. “Surprised in a good way,” he adds. “It’s not healthy to hold on to grudges.”

He’s not the only one who’s surprised.

“It’s hard to explain,” I tell him, so I don’t even try. After everything Catherine put me through as a child, becoming friends with her seems crazy. But there’s a connection between us I can’t deny and, somehow, despite everything, it feels like it’s meant to happen.

He steps into the cubicle and reaches for the shower gel. My eyes travel down his body as he starts to lather it. He catches me watching him and grins, crooks his forefinger to beckon me in. A minute later, I’m standing in there, too, pressed up against him, water streaming off our soapy bodies as he kisses my neck. It’s the first time we’ve made love in weeks. Now that my nausea is finally on its way out, things are getting back to normal at last.

All thoughts of Catherine disappear into the steam.

31

I stand on my parents’ doorstep and press the bell. It seems strange not being able to let myself in with a key. I’ve still got one in my handbag, but I’d never use it. In fact, I must remember to give it back to them. This isn’t my home anymore; I’m a visitor now. But as soon as Dad opens the door and I step inside, the years fall away. Whatever changes they make to the decor, whatever new pieces of furniture they buy, the familiar smell of my childhood always greets me.