‘I’m fine.’ Emily sounded awkward, almost abrupt. ‘I’m sorry not to have called you earlier, Casey. We’re away from London. I didn’t have any phone reception . . .’

‘Oh,’ Casey hesitated. ‘Are you . . .’

‘I’m fine.’

There was a silence.

‘Poppy’s here in London,’ Casey went on. ‘And she’s beautiful, Emily. She’s absolutely perfect.’

‘Thank God.’ Emily’s voice changed, immediately tearful. ‘Thank God.’

‘Where are you?’ Casey asked. ‘Shall we bring her to you?’

All at once, the sobs burst out of Emily, hard, rasping sounds. ‘Oh, Casey . . .’

Casey could hear Dominic’s voice in the background, harsh with tension.

‘Can you bring her to me, Casey?’ Emily managed. ‘I need to see her. I’ve been waiting . . .’

‘Of course,’ Casey grinned. For the first time in days, she felt an emotion close to happiness. ‘As soon as I can.’

‘Promise me you’ll bring her?’

‘I will, Emily. I promise.’

‘I’ve got to . . .’ Emily fought for air. ‘I need to . . .’

‘I’ll be there as soon as I can.’

Through gulps, Emily read out the address.

‘Just outside Guildford,’ Casey visualised the map. ‘I won’t be long.’

‘I can’t wait to see her,’ whispered Emily. ‘Little Poppy Naomi Burton-Smith. Keep her safe, Casey. Promise me? Keep her safe.’

‘Emily . . .’

‘Casey.’ For a second, Emily sounded quite cold. ‘Please get her here as soon as you can.’

Miranda drove, weaving impatiently through the London traffic. Casey sat in silence, staring into space.

Portunus. Rhapso. Arachne. Aceso.

‘Have you ever thought about it?’ Miranda interrupted her thoughts.

‘Thought about what?’ Casey rubbed her eyes.

‘Kids. And all that.’

‘Not really. Not yet. Have you?’ A pause. ‘Has Tom?’

‘A bit. Yes.’ A long pause. ‘It all just seems so unfair, doesn’t it?’ Miranda gripped the steering wheel. ‘That these women will do anything – anything – to have children. And I’m ambivalent, at best.’

‘Everything’s unfair.’ Casey turned towards Miranda. ‘So Tom wants kids.’

‘Yes.’ Miranda let out a long breath. ‘And it’s going to be the thing that finishes us, after all that.’

‘I had wondered,’ said Casey carefully.

‘Becky, and all that.’ Miranda pulled a face. ‘Me. Doesn’t seem like a good basis for anything, does it?’

‘No.’ Casey softened it. ‘Sorry. But it might just be that she flirts with him, and all the things we . . .’

The windscreen wipers swept back and forwards.

Unless we’re working, Miranda didn’t say. ‘Don’t. Yes.’

‘Well, what do you want?’ asked Casey.

‘It’s all the bits of my life that I don’t enjoy . . .’ Miranda was almost speaking to herself. ‘The cooking, the cleaning, the knowing where I’ll be at three thirty exactly on Thursday afternoon – it’s all those things that would become my everything. They would submerge everything else. And all the things I love, those are the things that would disappear.’