She turned her face against his skin, taking comfort from his presence. ‘Yes.’ But her heart performed a skippity-skip and she knew she’d drawn out the word doubtfully.

He drew away and resettled himself so he could look into her face. ‘Sure?’ He sounded puzzled. ‘I thought you were relieved to know more about your history. Glad to speak to people who knew Vicky and Tori and could make them feel real to you.’

‘Yeah.’ She began to stroke his chest where his body hair was at its silkiest. ‘That’s true and it was fantastic. I know my birth mother, Tori, will forever be a teenager and I missed out big-time but it was bliss to speak to someone who knew and loved them both.’ She sighed. ‘I feel everything you’d expect – joyful, reassured, relieved that the mystery is finally, finally cleared up. Wistful and regretful that Tori suffered, that my birth prompted that suffering and, of course, immense sorrow at what I lost as soon as I had it. More regret that Mum – Vicky, I mean – and Gran and Pap couldn’t have told me about Tori and given me a share of their memories. Sorry there’s no video that would have let me hear her voice and see how she moved. But …’ She let her eyes drop to the pulse beating at his throat.

His frown curled one eyebrow. ‘But?’

‘There’s an anxiety.’ Her throat had tightened as if trying to squeeze back the words. ‘I’ve read up on postpartum psychosis on the internet now.’ She paused, heart hammering so hard it made her feel shaky. ‘Although only one or two women in a thousand get it, there’s a familial link. If I ever have kids, will I be one of those women?’

‘Oh, Zia!’ He pulled her closer, harder against him, stroking her hair down her back. After a few seconds, he said, ‘It’s obviously a rare condition. I’d never even heard of it before. Had you?’

She shook her head.

He went on, gently, persuasively. Comfortingly. ‘And the world has advanced in thirty years.’

She sniffed. ‘Not enough that mental illness always gets sympathy.’ But her heart steadied a little at his compassion and good sense. She would have hated him to dismiss her worry as not real or, conversely, been horrified to the point of leaping from the bed and running. Instead, he just held her and stroked her.

Gradually, feeling secure with his body wrapped around hers, fatigue took over. Drowsily, she reflected that she’d never realised non-sexual nakedness could feel so comforting and a goodnight kiss on the shoulder so sweet.

Sleep swept up to claim her.