‘Yes, but later. Not now, not at twenty-three.’ Perhaps not ever, she stopped herself saying. ‘We talked about this.’

‘I know, but I didn’t think you were so firm about it that you wouldn’t want a baby if an accident happened. I mean, it’s a happy accident, isn’t it?’

She stood up, walked over to the window, looked out at the row of terraced houses opposite. The spring sunlight was fading and lights were already on in some. A cosy living room. A woman washing up at a kitchen sink. Kids opening a front door, stepping into an illuminated hallway.

Happy accident.

‘I nearly had an abortion,’ she said, her back to him. Her watch ticked on. She turned around and saw hurt and confusion on his face. ‘Before I even told you. I was debating not having the baby.’

‘You would have done that?’

‘Well, clearly not. I couldn’t go through with it.’

‘But you thought about it? I can’t believe it, Syl.’

‘I had the signed forms. I went to the clinic. I was about to take the pills. So, yes, I could have done it.’ She saw his sadness, his hurt, and part of her wanted to hug him tight and say, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have even thought about it, I should have told you, everything will be okay now.

But she wouldn’t. Because she didn’t believe any of those things. She wasn’t sorry. She didn’t think everything would be okay. And she needed him to know that.

‘I was scared, Jim. And I still am. This isn’t what I wanted and I’m scared I’ve ruined my life, scared my career’s been nipped in the bud before it’s even got going; that I’ll be stuck at home, bored and unfulfilled, looking jealously on as you climb the ladder. I’m scared I’ll be a terrible mother. I’m scared I’ll resent the baby. I’m scared of… everything, it seems. And all because the stupid pill failed. Not because we chose it, rationally, by talking together and deciding, but because a contraceptive that’s meant to liberate women has ended up doing the complete opposite to me…’

He looked up at her and she hoped he understood. That’s all she wanted: for him to understand how this felt for her. But then he stood up, came over to her, put his hands on her arms and looked her in the eyes, and she knew, even before he said it, that he hadn’t.

‘Syl, darling, you’re overreacting. It’s a baby, not a life sentence.’

She smiled, shook her head, shrugged his hands off her arms. She picked up her jacket from the back of the armchair, walked out the door and slammed it behind her.

JULY 2016 Montreux, Switzerland

JESS