I couldn’t settle on what to wear, though my choices were few. The last time I’d seen Sarah, I’d thought my belly well hidden. Now, I wondered if she had known all along. The idea made me uncomfortable, annoyed. I put on a dress that accentuated my bosom and sat too tightly around my middle, then I stood in front of the mirror. There was something obscene about it, and something wonderful. I traced my funny fingers over the curve of my breast, over my nipple, over the swell of baby beneath the tightened skin. I felt it move and saw the undulation beneath the fabric of the dress.

I changed into a blouse and skirt, both borrowed from Ditte. I wore a housecoat over the top.

As soon as I came into the sitting room, Sarah stood up. The sisters wanted the afternoon to be more comfortable than it could possibly be, so they remained seated and threw out casual phrases of welcome that sounded forced and overly cheerful: “Here you are”; “You’ll have tea, won’t you, Esme?”; “We were just commenting on how warm it is”; “A slice of Madeira, Sarah?”

Sarah ignored them and came straight over to where I stood. She took both my hands in hers. “Esme, if you would prefer this not to happen, I understand. This will be far harder for you than for anyone. You must take your time, and you must be sure.”

It was regret and sorrow and loss. It was hope and relief. And it was other things that had no name, but I felt them in my gut and could taste their bitterness. The frustration of not being able to articulate any of it came in a flood of tears.

Sarah caught me, wrapped her strong arms around me and let me sob on her shoulder. She felt solid and unafraid.

When Beth finally poured the tea, we were all blowing our noses.

We drank tea and ate cake, and I watched a crumb stick steadfastly to the corner of Sarah’s mouth. I noticed how she listened to everything Beth said, never interrupting but not always agreeing when she had a chance to reply. I listened to the sound of her voice and was reminded of how easily she laughed. I wondered if she could sing.

I had avoided thinking about what would happen when the pregnancy was over. I didn’t ask questions and the sisters had only ever hinted at it. Was this always the plan? I thought.

Of course it was.

Did it need to be?

Of course it did.

The baby was a girl. This I knew, though I couldn’t say how. And I’d begun to love her.

“Esme?” Beth said.

All three women were waiting for me to reply to something I’d not heard.

“Esme,” Sarah said, “would it be all right with you if I visited again?”