‘Hello, little one.’ The water ripples. There’s a twisting inside of me. Something hard pushing into my skin. It’s such a joyous feeling. I trace the shape of it – an elbow? A heel? Before I can identify what it is, there’s a shift and my stomach is a smooth, hard mound once more. ‘I’ve waited for you for an awfully long time,’ I whisper. ‘I can’t wait to meet you. You are so loved. So very loved.’ I haul myself out of the bath, unused to the weight of my body. I want to find Adam. While I dry myself, I continue talking in hushed tones. ‘There’s Great-Nan. She’s a little forgetful but you don’t need to worry about that. You’re unforgettable. Then there’s Grandma – that’s my mum – she’ll be knitting you Christmas jumpers until you’re my age most likely, but you can allow her that because she’s the best baker. Wait until you taste her scones.’ I flap the towel towards my feet in the vain hope it will absorb some water because I can’t bend to reach them. ‘There’s Aunty Nell. If you’re a girl, she’ll teach you about boys, and if you’re a boy she’ll tell you what girls want.’ I shrug on my dressing gown. ‘And then there’s Uncle Josh. I dread to think what he’ll teach you.’

I open the bathroom door and step outside, stubbing my toe on the bookcase that still waits in pieces on the landing to be built. Some things never change.

‘Adam. I’ve almost fallen over that bookcase again,’ bursts out of me before I can keep it in. I hobble downstairs, trying to keep the irritation out of my voice. ‘Adam?’

He’s prone on the sofa. Picking at a bowl of Kettle crisps that rests on his stomach. A can of lager on the floor.

I hover, midway on the stairs, the pain in my toe disappearing.

My husband.

I waddle towards him, awkwardly drop to my knees and cover his face in kisses. His lips taste of cheese and onion.

‘If that’s because I bought you Philosophy bubble bath rather than Asda’s own brand, then you’re welcome.’

‘It’s not because of that. It’s because I love you.’ I can’t stop smiling. ‘Josh does too, even though he said to tell you a one-legged, half-blind ape could save more goals than you do nowadays. We, umm, spoke the other day.’

He laughs but admits, ‘I do feel a bit old to be part of the team now. I think I’ll give it up.’

‘Don’t give up,’ I say decisively. ‘Don’t ever give up on anything.’

‘I thought it would make you happy?’

‘You being fit, strong. That’s what makes me happy.’