‘What?’ Catrin stammered.

‘That you want to try for another. He rang me.’

‘Well, he had no right talking to you about it, Gar. With respect.’

‘Well, with respect,’ he echoed, ‘Sol’s my mate. It’s not just women who need a heart-to-heart, y’know.’

Catrin sighed. She could feel a sob rising in her throat, threatening to choke her voice. It was horrible not speaking to Sol and she missed him. She wished he’d come with her now, her bravado and excitement at ‘running away’ having long since vanished.

‘Look, let me just say something,’ Gareth said. And Catrin was glad his eyes were firmly on the road ahead so he couldn’t see her tears creeping out. ‘Tell me to shut up if you like, but I do know how it feels, OK?’

Of course he did. But she could only manage to nod, and let him carry on.

‘Every day, pretty much, I imagine what it would have been like to have two kids. Every day. And I’ll never completely get over that, truth be told.’

She sensed him steal a glance at her, testing the waters, waiting for her to respond. Swallowing back the emotion that was poised to engulf her, she whispered, ‘Sometimes it’s like I’m suffocating, Gar. With all the finality of it.’ And as she spoke, it came – the tidal wave of feelings she’d held stored up inside her for so long, now finding an opportunity to break free. ‘It’s all so terminal – y’know? No more kids. That’s that. Accept it. Get on with your life.’ Hysteria began creeping into her voice. ‘And I suppose I just want to keep the possibility alive. To not shut the door on it happening, no matter how tiny the chances are …’

Gareth nodded. ‘Yeah. I get it.’

‘It’s not fair, Gareth!’ she wailed. ‘It’s not fucking fair!’

He let her cry, respecting her grief. And then he said quietly, ‘But you’ve got Romy.’ And without taking his eyes off the road, he reached out, took her hand and squeezed it in support. She could see he was crying now too. ‘She’s immense. And me and Jude, we’ve got Jack, and he’s immense, and … I dunno … let’s celebrate what we have got, is it? Not mourn what we haven’t. ’Cos that’s the hand that life dealt us, Cat. And it’s a good hand.’

‘No,’ blubbed Catrin, ‘it’s a bloody wonderful hand.’ And she managed to smile at him, finding a sad solidarity in their loss. ‘Thanks,’ she whispered, as calm descended, and she found herself feeling strangely relieved: relieved that she perhaps no longer had to try, or fight. Just accept and be grateful. Perhaps Gareth was right.

Twenty minutes later they pulled up outside Sofia’s house. Checking herself in the visor mirror, Catrin said, ‘God, I look a sight,’ and she tried to clean up the smudged mascara clogged beneath her puffy eyes.

‘Don’t worry, you won’t look out of place in there,’ he said with a sad smile, and Sofia came out to greet them, weeping with open arms.