‘I’m fine,’ she said again but she hadn’t looked fine. I was irritating her with my constant fussing, but I couldn’t help it. Last night, as she had slept, I had googled pregnancy and learned that the baby was roughly 7mm long and the size of a pea. Next week they would have doubled in size.

‘Have you told your mum?’ It only just occurred to me that I might not be the first to know.

‘Not yet, but I’ll tell her as soon as we’re home.’

I had a list of people I wanted to tell: Josh, his parents. My parents.

‘This might bring you closer to Nell.’

‘I hope so.’ Anna’s face was relaxed. She looked like a different person. ‘I don’t want to tell the world until after my twelve-week scan though.’

‘We don’t have to tell anyone until you’re ready.’ I liked having a secret that just the two of us shared. ‘But those Japanese tourists from last night know, and the barman, the hotel receptionist—’

‘You couldn’t help yourself!’ The corners of her mouth briefly upturned. ‘But if anything does go wrong—’

‘Nothing will go wrong,’ I said, as though the determination in my words could make it so.

We had waited too long for this.

My wife and child.

I would lay down my life to protect them.

‘Bugger. So much for a quiet afternoon.’

It was only eleven o’clock but the closest beach to our hotel, Pacifico, was a riot of noise and colour. Music and laughter. Red and green bunting hung between wooden poles pushed into the sand. A BBQ sizzled the scent of beef. A makeshift bar was laden with goldfish-sized glasses filled with milky pina colada, garnished with chunks of pineapple, straws and pink paper umbrellas.

‘Do you want to walk the extra fifteen minutes around to the cove where it’s quieter or head back to the hotel? Lay by the pool instead?’ I asked.

Culture Club asked if you really want to hurt me.

‘And tear you away from free booze and all the terrible Eighties music you love?’ Anna gestured with her rolled-up towel. It was the only thing I had let her carry and only then because she said I looked like a donkey about to buckle under the load of sun cream, windbreak, books, camera, hats, lilo.

‘An ass, you mean?’ I had replied.

‘An arse more like.’

We spread out our towels and lay down. I idly trickled warm, dry sand between my fingers.

‘Excuse me, sir? Free yacht trip?’ The man in front of me was wearing a navy polo shirt adorned with a red log ‘WLY’. He gestured towards a yacht.

‘What’s the catch?’