Amy was still in bed when I got back to the house the next morning. Everything was just where Mum had left it. I took my shoes off before I walked on the white carpet in the living room, lifted the lid of the piano and played a few chords. The remote control for the TV in the corner rested on the arm of the sofa, as though Mum had just popped out to the shops.

In the kitchen I turned the kettle on, opened the cupboard where the cups were kept, took the cosy off the pot and opened the ceramic jar full of teabags that she must have filled up before the crash. When the tea had brewed I poured two cups and carried them upstairs.

‘Do you want a brew?’ I called through.

‘Yes, green, please,’ she called back.

‘I’ve made you a normal one.’

‘That’ll do. Do you want to come in?’

I pushed the door open slowly. She was sitting up in bed, rubbing her eyes. ‘You’re still wearing your suit. Oh, God. You’ve just got in.’

‘Yeah.’

‘I was feeling quite impressed with you when I heard the door. I thought you’d gone to get the paper or out for some breakfast.’

‘Yes. Don’t be impressed.’

‘Where were you?’

‘Joanne’s?’

‘Right. I saw she had her hand on your back towards the end. Isn’t she married?’

‘We didn’t talk about that,’ I said.

‘Did she have a ring on?’

‘I didn’t notice.’

‘My God, Paul.’

‘It’s… I know. What time did you get back?’

‘Eight o’clock. It wasn’t much fun sober. Not that funerals are supposed to be fun.’

‘I don’t know. They normally are. People are at their best.’

‘Their drunkest.’

‘Apart from you. What’s with that? Did you go on some super-bender in Thailand you’re compensating for now? Did your liver explode?’

‘No. Nothing like that.’

‘Good.’

‘Except… Prepare for a surprise.’

‘Yeah?’

‘I did get pregnant.’

‘Ha!’

‘No, Paul. I got pregnant.’

‘Are you still pregnant?’

‘Yes, I’m still pregnant. Two months pregnant. That’s why I came home.’

‘Are you really pregnant?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you’re staying pregnant?’

‘Not forever. About seven months more.’

‘No, really? You’re pregnant?’

‘Yes.’

‘I don’t believe you.’

‘This is very dull.’

‘You are pregnant?’

‘Yes.’

‘Who’s the dad?’

‘I think a guy I met from Bristol.’

‘You think?’

‘I’m certain.’

‘Right. Who is he?’

‘He’s an acupuncturist.’

‘An acupuncturist. No way.’

‘Who promotes jungle nights too.’

‘Who promotes…?’

‘Stop smiling!’

‘Does he know?’

He did not know. Not yet.

‘And you’re sure you’re keeping it?’ I asked.