‘Yeah, me neither,’ he replied.

It was an amazing feat of friendship that the invisible triangle connecting Lana, Judith and Catrin had always been balanced, always equilateral. In all the time they’d known each other, the dynamic had never been two against one. But that lovely equilibrium had been lost the day Judith shared her secret with Catrin alone. It would’ve been easier, of course, if Judith had never confided in her, though ultimately she realized her friend had had no choice. For one thing, the bridesmaid’s dress had needed to be altered; being six months gone by the time of the wedding, Judith’s bump would not have been easy to hide. Thankfully, it was a winter wedding, so the design of the dress and the wrap-around shawl would help hide the pregnancy.

At the hen weekend, and again at the final dress fitting, both Lana and Liz had privately commented to Catrin on Judith’s weight gain. She tried to brush it off with a nonchalant response about Judith being stuck at her desk all day in a sedentary job, eating too many cakes off the tea trolley. And they had seemed to buy that.

Catrin knew Judith had also confided in her because she would need moral support when she finally did break the news to Lana. But never in a million years could she have predicted such a violent reaction.

‘What if it’s broken us three up for good, Sol?’ she sobbed now, the emotions of the past twenty-four hours finally catching up with her. ‘Lana wasn’t just furious with Jude, she was furious with me as well.’

This time Sol stayed silent, no longer sure that things would work out.

When they arrived at the hospital, Gareth was outside smoking. Still in his crumpled wedding suit, he looked tired and raw and dishevelled and was sucking the life out of a cigarette. ‘I’ve started again,’ he said, with a shock-tainted smile.

‘Don’t blame you, mate,’ said Sol, putting his hand on Gareth’s arm.

They stood there in silence for a moment, lost for words, in a fug of irreverent and sour tobacco fumes.

‘Oh, and I’m a dad, by the way,’ added Gareth, as if such momentous news was a minor afterthought.

‘What?’

‘And Judith’s a mum. Weird, huh?’ His voice was shaking, broken.

Catrin tried to process what she was hearing, ‘Oh my God—’

But Gareth ploughed on. ‘Yeah, little boy. Callin’ him Jack, we are. Only three and a half pound at the moment, like …’ The words were tumbling out of him, punctuated by the drags on his cigarette. He didn’t look at Sol and Catrin as he spoke, as if he was afraid to connect in case it made him collapse. ‘He’s in one of them incubators—’

‘Jesus,’ whispered Sol, and Catrin’s hands covered her face in shock.

‘Yeah, still a bit touch and go, like, but I reckon he’s a fighter.’ He tried smiling. ‘The other one didn’t make it though.’

‘The … other one?’ stammered Catrin, exchanging looks with Sol.