They’d played Will all sorts, some of their favourite bands, some of Nana’s jazz – they’d even made a recording of Kaz’s band playing their own songs. ‘Sort of ska,’ Kaz had called it, slightly embarrassed but pleased that Rosie had suggested the recording. They’d played at all the school concerts, Rosie and her friends always going along to watch. She’d liked seeing him onstage, though she could tell he was uncomfortable with all the attention – he was the bass player, while the others took turns as frontman. Kaz didn’t want to be noticed, he just wanted to keep his head down and play music.

Her mum had already made the coffee when they got downstairs, and Rosie had taken a cup but Kaz had made some ginger tea instead – perhaps he was nervous too, looking over at her and giving his geeky grin. It was strange to think of baby Will being out in the world, where anything might happen.

The world on the whole, Rosie thought, was a good place. But there were accidents, things beyond anyone’s control, tragedies. She shook her head – she didn’t want to be thinking like this for Will’s birth day. And she’d promised herself she wouldn’t be too protective a mother.

When she was little she loved going on climbing frames, especially the big ones with metal bars at different heights that they have in playgrounds all around the city. The council made them as safe as could be, with padded mats embedded in the ground and a safety officer on site, but she’d also read somewhere that the bars needed to be all different distances apart, to really help with coordination. It wasn’t good for things to be too predictable – better for children to learn to anticipate and adapt. Her mum used to let her play for as long as she liked, as wildly as she liked, while she sat on the bench reading or chatting with Grandpa or Auntie Leigh. She could hang upside down from her bended knees, turn somersaults on the highest bars of the climbing frame, around and around so that the world would spin – blue sky, green grass, blue sky, green grass.

She had been totally fearless, she realised now, as the memory made her heart beat a little faster. She wouldn’t be able to perform those acrobatics any more, she didn’t even like going on roller coasters. She and Kaz had admitted that to each other last year – after a dizzying ride at Thorpe Park, the kind designed to make you scream. He took her on the horses for their next ride, and they’d sat together with Rosie on the front saddle and Kaz behind, his arms wrapped around her waist as the organ music played and the carousel gently turned.