Kate didn’t know what to say. A baby. Good God, a baby . . .

‘It’s a big thing.’

‘Yep. I know.’

‘Children are . . . they’re all consuming. Take over your whole life.’

‘And?’

‘Well, I’m quite full on right now.’

He was quiet for a moment. ‘You mean Becky’s story.’

‘It’s important to me.’

‘And a child is important to me.’

But why now? she thought, and immediately knew the answer. She was only just the right side of forty. ‘Can I have some time?’

‘Course!’ Sensing her reluctance to continue the conversation, he was quick to reassure her.

They looked at each other, not sure what to say next. The dance teachers were calling out some instructions and they both made a show of paying attention.

‘It’s just a surprise, that’s all,’ said Kate in his ear as they started dancing again.

‘It’s OK. I should have given you more warning.’

He held her, and they were both grateful that the tension had eased. It was a temporary reprieve, that much they were both aware of as they spun around.

A baby, thought Kate again. She couldn’t help wondering what would happen if she said no.

TWENTY-NINE

2008

Kate was avoiding her boss. She kept to the back of the restaurant where she found endless small jobs to make herself look busy: tidying the shelf of napkins, wiping down the china dishes that held the selection of Thai dipping sauces that they served with the complimentary appetizers.

Rick knew she was avoiding him, and Kate could tell this irritated him by the way he kept glancing over, with his sunburnt face from the weekend’s unexpected heatwave, wanting to interrupt, but unable to while she was so busily employed. Actually, what was really annoying him was the fact that at work the day before she had asked to speak to him privately. He’d smiled knowingly and taken her to his office, a tiny room downstairs, crammed with files, industrial-sized boxes of Thai crackers and a desk behind which he had a swivel chair.

As he’d closed the door, his hand had run across her shoulder blades and down her back. She’d stiffened and stepped aside, turning to face him. Then she’d explained that she no longer wanted to have sex with him; that a relationship wasn’t what she was really looking for at that moment. In truth, it was less a relationship, more a quick, heated fumble across the desk, followed by a can of warm Coke while he talked at her for the last ten minutes of her break about the difficulties of running a restaurant. At thirty, he was only three years older than her, but acted as if he’d already hit late middle age and would moan and gripe in a way that drained her.

Rick had not taken the news well. Not wanting to jeopardize her employment, she avoided telling him the sex and the rare male company was not worth the flat, depressing feeling she was left with afterwards. Instead, she reassured him it was her, not him, and said hadn’t they had fun over the last month, hadn’t it been naughty and weren’t they risqué.