‘I know,’ she said. ‘I know.’ And then they were both crying, crying for their lost baby. They curled around each other on the bed and they cried.

When Holly thought about Will, it was mostly his laughter that she remembered. She had laughed with Will. They had laughed so often and so much. You had to, with three kids under the age of ten. She could still see him now, Aarav held under his arm as he scrambled to climb up on his back, the girls playing their version of crawl-football between his legs, and he would be cheering them on with Leigh grabbing onto his knees and Daphne – always Daphne – being the one to say, stop now, everyone, I think Daddy needs a sit-down. Hands on hips. She was in charge, even then, her confident eldest child. The baby who changed it all.

They’d laughed the next time Will had asked her to marry him too, so many years after his first proposal that had been met with absolutely not and a kiss and a lifetime spent as partners. They were both in their fifties then, Leigh already in Delhi and Aarav had just moved down to Brighton, and they were alone in their house for the first time, acknowledging that no one else was coming home any time soon.

‘What are we going to do now?’ she said. Although by that point she was two years into her five-year research grant and Will was writing a book, which he never did finish. He loved writing it, though. It was the kind of memoir no one would ever want to read but them. In reply to her question he got down on one knee and asked her: ‘Will you, Holly Bhattacharyya, be the next Mrs William Bold?’

And she’d said, ‘Yes, yes, I believe I will, but I have just one question. No, two questions. Who is William Bold, and where do I find him?’

‘It’s my name, woman,’ he said. ‘My name is William Bold.’

‘But they always call you Will Bhattacharyya,’ she said. ‘What a funny thing. How confused the world must be.’

‘Never mind the world,’ he said. ‘Will you marry me?’

‘I can’t see the point in marrying you,’ she said. ‘And now I think about it, I don’t really want to be a wife.’

‘That’s a good point,’ he replied. ‘Now I think about it, I don’t really want to be a husband.’

‘Let’s stay who we are then,’ she said.

‘Yes, let’s. But we should have a ceremony.’

‘There’s no one here to attend.’

‘There’s you, and there’s me,’ he said. ‘I’m happy with that.’