‘Yeah, well I won’t do it. So you’re gonna have to choose,’ declared Judith. ‘It’s either me or her.’

Several weeks went by and nothing changed. Catrin’s threat of having neither best friend as godmother had had no effect whatsoever. So it left her with only one choice: she’d have to invite both Lana and Jude and fail to inform either that the other was coming.

‘You’re taking a massive risk!’ Sol told her – though he was smiling at the time.

‘Only time will tell.’

The christening plans were in place: two o’clock on Sunday the tenth – at St Theodore’s Church, of course, with the service to be taken by Father O’Leary, of course, who’d said he’d be delighted to welcome little Rosy into the family of Christ.

The reception afterwards was to be held at the Kelly home. ‘Your father wanted caterers,’ Liz told Catrin. ‘I said, “Who d’you think we are, Huw Kelly – Madonna and Guy Ritchie? We’ll have a finger buffet up the house and be done with it.”’

Judith intended to come down early, visiting Patricia en route. And Lana had promised to get the train first thing from London. Catrin made the whole of her family swear not to mention her plan. Because she knew that if Jude found out that Lana was coming, she’d be off back to Richmond before the booing of a goose. And vice bloody versa.

She snuggled up to Romy, resplendent now in a comfy all-in-one.

‘That’s better, isn’t it, darling?’ she whispered, inhaling the luscious aroma of her baby skin.

Catrin still marvelled at her existence, this child who had eluded them for so long, held safely in her arms, warm and milky, smiling and soft: without doubt their little miracle.

‘You’ll be the star of the show on Sunday,’ she said.

Romy gurgled back at her, kicking her chubby legs, excited by life: this little soul smiled at everyone, making them feel they had a magic touch when it came to babies. And Catrin was confident that when her two best friends turned up at that church on Sunday, there was no way they’d be able to walk out. Romy was going to have them both well and truly under her spell.

33

Judith

She hated it when he went quiet on her. He’d been like it since the night before. She knew he’d come round eventually, because he always did. But she found it so boring having to wait.

‘D’you want a fruit pastille?’ she asked, desperate to defuse the atmosphere.

But he kept his eyes firmly on the road. ‘No, ta.’

She waited a few minutes, then suggested stopping at the next services. Bit of fresh air and a stretch of the legs might encourage him to talk, she thought.

Once inside, they ordered two cappuccinos and found a table away from everyone. She watched as he tore open the sugar sachets, poured them in and stirred.

‘Gareth, for God’s sake, we have to talk about it,’ she insisted.