The waiter comes over and opens our bottle of pinot, the one the guests left. I raise my hand. ‘None for me.’ Even if it wasn’t about the baby, I don’t think I could stomach alcohol.

I note the disappointment in Cain’s eyes. ‘Oh, you want a cider?’

‘No,’ I say, just a little annoyed he hasn’t realised the significance of why I’m not drinking at the moment. ‘Water is fine.’ He will understand tonight, when we get back and I give him the news. Will it be the same as last time? Weeks of effervescence, boiling over with plans of the future, endless speculation about what the baby might look like and planning the perfect combination of our traits? My nose, with your skin and eyes. Definitely your ankles. Or will it be dulled by the reality of what we went through, what we lost? What if it happens again? Most marriages don’t survive the loss of a child. What about the loss of two?

The waiter collects my glass.

‘Still or sparkling?’

‘Tap is fine,’ Cain says.

I raise a finger, turn to the waiter. ‘Do you work here every Saturday?’

‘Sorry?’ he says.

‘Were you working last Saturday?’

‘Last Saturday night? Yes.’

I smile. ‘Oh right, you might have served a couple we know, Lucy and Phil. In town for the weekend from Auckland.’

Cain gives me an incredulous look.

The waiter frowns, thinking. ‘Lucy and Phil.’ He brings a tattooed hand to his jaw, scratches. ‘I think we did have a couple from Auckland. Blonde woman.’ He’s squinting now as if seeing them.

‘That would be them. Phil has short hair.’

‘Yeah,’ he says, nodding.

‘They said they had a lovely meal,’ I say.

‘I’ll pass the message on to the chef. Are they your parents?’

‘Parents?’ I look to Cain, who closes his eyes now with the tiniest smile. ‘No, they’re our age, maybe a little younger.’

The waiter holds his cheek, glancing up. ‘I must be thinking of a different group.’

After the waiter has left, Cain says, ‘And I thought I was the stalker.’ He tries to make it a joke with a smile, but his brow is furrowed in concern.

I can’t tell him what I know, the coincidences that are lining up like dominoes, because I would have to tell him when I last wore that dress, why I stayed at the WeStay in Auckland and where my ring really is. And there’s the small matter of the photo.

I notice a group rush in off the street, their jackets held up over their heads to keep the rain off. They look like a family, making their way towards the long table nearby.