He climbed down from the ladder, one careful foot at a time, and stood back to survey his work. It was pretty good, if he did say so himself. Beautifully colourful. He would have loved a room like this, when he was young. Kaz was going to love it too. They’d kept it secret, so it could be a birth day surprise. He could imagine Kaz’s face, as Cris held his hands over his eyes and they led him in – he could hardly wait. He sat on the floor and looked up to the solar system on the ceiling.

There had been some difficulty, for Karl and Cris. Twenty years ago now, but still fresh, still sore. There had been a baby girl, before she was even a baby, their daughter who never grew to be more than an embryo. She’d died just six days after implantation in the pouch. Before they’d even been able to carry her. It didn’t happen often, but when it did it always happened within the first fortnight. It was the most difficult part of the whole process, that initial attachment. He still missed her as if he’d known her all his life – he could picture her perfectly, even though he’d never seen her at all. He wondered why it was, that love should work like that. The next time they tried, Cris acted as the biological father instead, and Kaz was born. Strange words those, ‘biological father’. Parenthood wasn’t about being a blood relation, he knew – and he knew it deeply, in the same place he knew love and fear and hope. It was about intimacy.

The pouch itself allowed him to have an intimacy with his son that he wouldn’t have otherwise had. To feel what it was like to carry an unborn child, his tiny fists pressing against his belly – there was nothing like it. He’d written to Holly about it once. They’d lived not far from each other, and she was famous, so he knew which house was hers even though they hadn’t met at that stage. The first woman ever to use the pouch – even now he occasionally felt a little in awe of her. He’d been far too embarrassed to talk to her in person, but he wanted to tell her how wonderful it was, for a man. For two men. How life-changing. It was a gift, he’d written, and he didn’t know if he deserved it.