People talk about pregnancy lasting longer than expected. Some think this is nature’s way of easing you into it all, a slow run to the seismic changes. But, in the light of what was to come, the thirty-eight weeks of Anya’s pregnancy seem to have happened in speeded-up time.

When the morning sickness kicked in, those weeks were certainly long for Anya. ‘Morning’ sickness. What a misnomer. Anya had it quite hard and I’m sure none of that passed with any speed.

I sometimes look back at that night, with the two of us having supposedly spilled all our worst secrets, and wish I could press the pause button.

We finally went to bed after two am that night, both utterly spent after the evening of revelations. I didn’t react as I should, when she told me about the baby. Too many things were competing for space in my head.

That horrible story about Alice Adebayo.

Finally telling her about Mrs Mack.

In fact, when she said she was pregnant, I’d been unable to respond for a couple of seconds until I’d seen her stricken expression and the bright teardrops filming her eyes. Then I’d gathered her into my arms and kissed the top of her head.

It was just too much to take in, while I was still trying to process all this … past. She’d kept so many secrets from me, both over the history of our relationship and more recently. Two people were dead; both accidental, both from falls that were horrific in their own way. Neither was her fault, exactly. But she hadn’t done the right thing, either.

And now she knew the very worst thing about me. The fact that I felt guilty about my part in an old woman’s death didn’t get me off the hook. I still let it happen.

We existed in a state of polite friendliness for a couple of days and then I found her slumped on the bathroom floor, crying after a bout of sickness, and all distance melted away.

I got through my disciplinary hearing and resolved to do everything I could to regain Jackie’s trust in me and get back on with the job I loved.

I managed to make excuses about seeing Patrick and Julia for a while. Endless invitations for lunch arrived, and I made a host of excuses. It hurt Anya, but I couldn’t help that.

The fact that they knew everything about what had happened to Anya – both in Cambridge and with Michael Copeland – was an irritation that felt like a stone in my shoe. Particularly the latter. Maybe it was because I had been parentless for so very long, but I couldn’t understand it, however hard I tried. We weren’t children, running to Mummy and Daddy when things got tough, were we?

So, yes, you could say I was bitter.