I put down the kettle, unnerved by her attitude. ‘Sorry, what’s what?’

She stands in front of me and thrusts her phone into my hand. ‘I don’t frigging believe it! Look at this! Just look!’

Sixteen

THEN

Diagonal sleet comes at the windscreen, blurring the icy roads. I take the car at a crawl along the narrow country lanes, ignoring the frustrated driver behind me who’s right on my tail, flashing his lights. Ever since I got pregnant, I’ve become far more cautious. I’m not about to risk my unborn child’s life for a time-saving of two minutes. Mr Angry will just have to wait.

I’m finally on my way to Dad’s place to tell him the news. I’ve been putting it off for weeks, in the wake of Dina’s lukewarm response. Mainly because I don’t want Dad’s lack of enthusiasm to further rain on my parade. It’s a stark contrast to Toby’s family’s response – they couldn’t have been any more overjoyed if they’d tried. Ever since we told them we were expecting, they’ve been calling round and checking I’m okay, buying little gifts and generally being unbelievably supportive.

The other reason I’ve delayed coming to see him is because his comment at the wedding annoyed me – asking if I was sure about getting married. If Dad had bothered to be more involved in my life he would know that of course I was sure. But I shouldn’t work myself up. It’s bad for the baby and it won’t make for a particularly pleasant visit if I’m in a mood before I even step through the door.

I reach the end of the country lane and pull onto the road where Dad lives. It’s only ten minutes outside town – the same house where Dina and I grew up. A modest 1930s property on a main road but set quite far back and screened from the pavement by tall evergreens. Dad has let the bushes grow far too tall. They now block all light from the rooms at the front of the house. I’ve told him he should get them cut back, but he doesn’t do anything about it.

Mum used to be the one with green fingers, and I have vivid memories of the four of us spending weekends outside, planting, trimming and weeding. That was back when he used to laugh. My father has since let the gardening slide. In the summer, the vast back garden would be a jungle if I didn’t badger Dad into getting the lawnmower out every once in a while. I used to do it myself before I left home.