‘A baby.’ And there it is. Other things. The thing we never talked about. ‘I couldn’t get you pregnant—’

‘Because of my endometriosis. It wasn’t your fault.’

‘I still felt you blamed me.’

‘Why?’ My chest aches. How had I made him feel that way?

‘Because you were so snappy with me. Every month.’

‘I was… sad. Sad I wasn’t pregnant and feeling guilty that it was all my fault. I thought you blamed me.’

‘I didn’t. I felt… helpless. It all got so overwhelming. I just thought I was letting you down in so many other ways, what was the point? Painting a wall or digging a border in the garden wouldn’t change anything in the big scheme of things. It seemed so trivial. I can’t give you a baby but I’ve fixed the leaky tap.’ He waved jazz hands.

‘I wish you’d fix the leaky tap.’ I smile to show I’m joking. ‘I’m sorry, Adam. I genuinely am that you’ve been blaming yourself, feeling inadequate.’

‘I’m sorry I didn’t realize it was how you were feeling too. I’ve been a bit of a knob.’

‘I’ve been a bit of a bitch.’

‘A bit?’ He raises his eyebrows. I nudge him with my shoulder.

‘At first I thought it would happen for us and when it didn’t…’ He is serious. ‘Every month… The disappointment turning to despair it wasn’t happening. Fear it would never happen and then suddenly so much time had passed it seemed odd to bring it up and because you’d never broached the subject either…’

‘I was afraid of what you might say. What you might think of me,’ I say quietly.

‘Same.’

Our fingers find each other.

‘Are we okay?’ he asks.

‘Yes. But we need to do this regularly. Talk. Not try to second-guess what the other is thinking. Let each other know what we need.’

‘I need you.’

I kiss him, my fingers sliding under his T-shirt. It feels… right. I find his belt buckles, the button of his jeans. Our kisses are hot, hard. My breath ragged. This… this is how I used to feel. Overcome with longing. With passion. This wasn’t a perfunctory task to be performed because the app tells us it’s the right time. We have already made a baby. This is because as he runs featherlight touches over my body, tracing the outline of my bra, I feel I might die if he doesn’t touch me properly. I feel the way I used to feel for him.

‘Adam,’ our faces are inches apart, ‘I want you. I want you to—’

But I don’t finish my sentence because suddenly there’s a searing pain in my head and Adam is slipping away.

Everything goes black.

Chapter Forty-Eight

Oliver

‘What went wrong?’ Eva asks. She studies Oliver intently. She’s sitting close to him. Oliver shifts away uncomfortably.