It was nice, in fact – she looked around as he did, noticing the artwork on the walls, the simple but elegant wood furniture, the lighting that managed to be simultaneously bright, warm, and subtle. On their table, in place of a menu holder, was a snow-globe with a tiny, handmade robin in the centre.

‘Here is good,’ she smiled. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow then. At ten.’

He took a deep breath, nodded, turned and walked towards the door.

The waitress appeared with his superfood salad.

‘It’s OK,’ Eva said, ‘I’ll have it.’

She ate as if she’d been starving, and when she’d finished she picked up the snow-globe and turned it, once, upside down. The snow was made of tiny white flowers that fluttered for a moment before settling on the robin’s brown back. There were trees in the distance – within the world of the globe – tall coniferous trees dusted with white-flower snow. She covered the curve of the globe with her palm.

‘Do you sell these?’ she asked, as she got up to leave.

The waitress nodded, added the price on to her meal. It was inexpensive.

Standing at last outside, leaning against the corner of the building and looking over to the reflective curves of the birthing centre, she took the globe out of her bag and tilted it back and forth, making the snow flowers flutter in the sheltered air.

Perhaps she should have been willing to change.

But no, she shouldn’t have had to. No one should have to change. That was the whole point.

Some shouting erupted from the entrance to the birthing centre. She looked up, for a second imagining that the voice was familiar. It wasn’t though. It was just a group of photographers and journalists, larking around. God’s sake, she thought. Piotr’s not here and I don’t want him here. She scowled at the building, with its tall glass panels designed to reflect the city, the light and the frost, tapered at the top to give the sense of height that pulled you up into the sky. Turning her back, she strode angrily past twinkling trees to the edge of the Thames, still holding the globe, and raised her arm high above her head. She didn’t even know why she’d bought the stupid thing, or why she kept falling back into memories she didn’t want to keep. It would be good to see it disappear into the water.

But she couldn’t do it. She dropped her arm without throwing the snow-globe and faced the birthing centre again. Her back against the wall. Then, slowly, she slid down until she was sitting on the pavement, the globe resting on her knees, and she thought about how much she wanted to cry or, perhaps, to scream.

Chapter 6