“Of course.” He’s smiling, as if we are somehow sharing the joke of Carrie’s evident attractions. I realize that, here, Carrie and I are seen as a unit. A compliment to one is a compliment to the larger whole. The casual assumption that we already are what I hope we might become throws me off-balance. I struggle to bring myself back to the conversation. “So yes, I know what it’s like to have a baby in the house. I just can’t quite imagine the baby being mine.” That’s not quite true—I almost can. I can almost feel the weight and warmth of a small bundle snuggled against my chest. What I can’t quite imagine is Jonathan there too.

Suddenly Callum spills into the kitchen in a whirlwind of noise and movement. “Uncle Jamie is coming up the drive,” he says importantly.

“Goodness, I’m popular today.” Ben looks at me thoughtfully but doesn’t say anything. “Come on, Callum, we’d better invite him in.”

“He doesnae like biscuits,” Callum says as we walk through the hallway to the front door.

“Really? I didn’t think it was possible to not like biscuits.”

“I guess he likes other things instead.”

“Like what?”

Callum pauses, his brow furrowed. “Fruit?” he hazards. “I dinnae ken.”

He slips his hand into mine just as I unlatch the door, so I’m looking down at him in surprise as the door swings open. His hand is warm and sturdy, the skin supple and soft. The trust implicit in that simple action floors me. “Hiya, Uncle Jamie,” he says.

I look up to catch a flash of chagrin on Jamie’s face, which is quickly replaced by a smile. “You’ve got visitors, I see; hiya, Callum. Ailsa, I can come back.”

“Not at all. The more the merrier. Come on in. Tea?”

“Ah, an invitation,” he says, grinning cheekily. He’s just as well put together as the previous occasions: slim-cut jeans and a very smart navy down jacket. “Well, in that case . . .” He makes a big show of stepping over the threshold, and I roll my eyes at him.

A sudden gust of wind slams the front door hard, almost catching Jamie’s heels and making Callum jump, his little hand squeezing mine. “Wow. The back door must be open,” I reassure Callum. “Anyway. Tea, Jamie?”

“I’d love one.”

“Was the back door open, Ben?” I ask as we reach the kitchen. If it was, it’s closed now. “The front one nearly took our heels off.”