‘I appreciate it, Jim, I really do. But it wouldn’t make financial sense, at least initially. Roger’s agreed to give me paid leave, so it would be stupid not to take it.’ She felt painfully confused when she thought of last week’s conversation with her boss, when they’d discussed the terms of her maternity leave: grateful she wouldn’t lose her job, but furious at his obvious disdain. Just make sure your mind’s on the job when you come back.

‘Only you could twist that into a bad thing,’ Jim said.

‘I’m not saying it’s a bad thing,’ she whipped back. ‘At least I know I’ll still have a job to go back to. But it doesn’t change the fact it’s the woman who has to press pause on her career. And maternity leave won’t change attitudes, I know that for certain. Not unless men get leave too.’

She’d seen how Ellis and the other men in the office looked at her now. Even Max, a little. It wasn’t a lack of respect, exactly, but a sort of assumption that she was no longer the ambitious young journalist she once was, because she must now have other things on her mind, other priorities – the inevitable priorities of a twenty-something woman.

She didn’t want to be inevitable. She wanted to surprise and impress. But it felt like you couldn’t do that and be pregnant. Instead, you were expected to spend your time chatting about names and nursery colours with the secretaries in the office, and since she didn’t want to do that, she seemed to have disappointed them too.

Jim sighed. ‘I’d love to smash the patriarchy for you, Syl, but that’s a rather big ask for one man to accomplish within a three-month deadline.’

She laughed, and it felt good.

‘Okay,’ he continued with a smile that looked so grateful, so relieved. ‘So down the line, after your maternity leave, when you’re ready to go back, I’ll quit and take over the childcare. Either that or I’ll work like a demon while you’re off, pick up some extra freelance, and maybe we’ll able to afford some kind of nanny or nursery, at least part time. Whatever it takes to make this work.’ He squeezed her hand. ‘We can make this okay, Syl. We can make this a wonderful thing.’

Music started playing from the cafe. That Elton John number that seemed to be on the radio every time Sylvia switched it on.

‘That bloody song!’ Jim shook his head, his mouth turning up in a wry smile. ‘It’s like the mantra to my summer.’