‘This is better,’ she’d said, leaning back into his chest. The music had reminded her of a jewellery box she’d had when she was a child, soft and soothing and far away. ‘This is exactly the sort of life I want to have.’ All around them people had been laughing and playing, children waving candyfloss and those fluffy clouds were in the sky, the kind you get sometimes on a summer’s day.

‘Time to stop daydreaming, you two.’

It was Rosie’s mum, smiling and jangling her car keys. She’d taken the day off to drive them to the birthing centre, to be there for the birth. Kaz’s dad and pops were meeting them at FullLife – they’d been texting for updates all morning. Kaz had called them Dad and Pops since he was a little boy so Rosie had adopted the names; she rather liked having two dads, after spending most of her life without even one. Her nana was coming too of course. Nana had been at every birth in the family. She’d put on her favourite dress, the one that she was wearing in the photo. Rosie knew she often crept upstairs to make tiny alterations when she was missing Grandpa. And today she’d chosen her pale yellow-and-navy wide-brimmed hat to go with it.

‘Nana, you look like you’re going to a wedding,’ she laughed.

‘Wait.’ Her nana held up her hand. ‘I still need the finishing touch.’ And she stood in front of the long mirror in the hall to pin a brooch to her smart jacket. It was the wise snowy owl, Rosie noticed, the one she’d given Nana for her seventy-fifth birthday.

‘Perfect,’ her nana smiled. ‘Now, what are you all waiting for?’

The whole family piled into the car: Kaz in the front seat wearing the pouch, Rosie in the back, leaning forward to check they were both OK, comfortable, strapped in safe. Nana was sitting beside her with the full skirt of her flowery dress splayed across the back seat. The bag was in the boot, with the bottles and Babygros in different colours – we don’t know which one will suit him yet, Rosie had argued, and Kaz had conceded her point. She couldn’t wait to feed him for the first time, to give him their genetic blend of milk they’d had specially prepared, to choose the little hat for his head. As they pulled away her nana smiled at her, conspiratorially, and kissed her on the cheek.