She didn’t reply straight away; instead, she regarded him critically, noticing how tired he looked. A thought came into her mind for the first time: that if they went ahead and had a baby, she would be raising it pretty much alone. Oh, sure, Tommy would be there, he would be present, in body but not in spirit. He wouldn’t have the time to bathe it or change its nappies or even look after it if she wanted to go out with Julie.

She looked on the bright side: the child would be all hers. It would love her more than anything else in the world. She smiled to herself.

‘Hun?’ he prompted her.

She took a deep breath and dived in. ‘I think we need to talk about us,’ she said. ‘And whether we are actually going to extend “us” into a family.’

He turned his head back towards the television, but she caught the eye roll. A sour ball of hurt replaced the feeling of hope from just a moment ago.

‘Tommy?’ she said, tentatively.

He sighed. ‘Do we have to do this tonight?’

‘No…’ she said softly. Swallowing, she raised her chin and dared to ask, ‘But when can we talk about it?’

‘I’m just not sure it’s the right time,’ he replied mildly. ‘For a baby, I mean, not to have this conversation.’

And in spite of all her hope, she had known it, that this was exactly the way this conversation would go. She would ask, he would say no, and in less than a minute the baby dream would be shattered until she found the nerve to bring the subject up again.

The ball of hurt in her belly turned to disappointment, raw and stinging inside her.

Try again, she told herself. She took a deep breath. ‘Julie said the time is never completely right,’ she said softly. ‘And if we keep putting it off, the decision will be out of our hands. I’ll be too old.’

He looked at her now. ‘You’ve been speaking to Julie about this? Christ, Paula, why do you have to gossip with her about me? Why can’t you just talk to me?’

She drew in a breath at his sharp words. The inhalation had the unmistakable shaky quality of a sob. ‘I try, but you won’t discuss it.’

He held his hands up, a gesture of surrender. ‘Listen, it’s just work, it’s full-on, you know that.’ He lowered his hands and reached cautiously into his briefcase. ‘You know I appreciate everything you do, and I think you’d be a wonderful mother.’

The feelings of hurt dissipated. Gratified, she leaned forward. ‘Do you really believe that?’

He didn’t answer; instead, he handed her an envelope, crisp and white, gold letters embossed on the front spelling out her name.

‘What’s this?’ she asked.