‘Well, the day I brought Jake home from the hospital was the first time in as long as I could remember when everything felt perfect and possible. We used to have a rose bush in the front garden before it was all dug up to make the driveway, and when I went into hospital, there hadn’t been a bloom on it, but as I stepped out of the car, it was a mass of yellow. Jake was so tiny. I held him in my arms and walked up the path like a queen. I can’t remember everything about the way he looked, but I can remember everything about the way he felt, lying like a satisfied little lump in my arms. I sat on the sofa with him in a white babygrow, his little arms and legs splayed out, trusting and fragile and with all of his weight in my hands. It was all he knew – that tiny world right there with me holding him. He slept like he could have stayed there forever quite happily, and I felt complete. I looked out of the window and the roses were swaying, as if bowing their delicate heads. I thought they’d bloomed just for me. That’s how special I felt, how lucky. I think about that moment a lot.’ It wiped away all my sadness. It restored my faith in the world. It made me feel invincible, and this is what I need to get back to, celebrating all I have rather than all I have lost!

‘Oh . . . Oh . . . Bess . . .’ Daniel’s sobbing prevented coherent speech. ‘That’s . . . that’s so beautiful!’

‘It’s me, Mum. He’s lost it – crying hard here.’ Jake sounded a little amused. ‘I heard what you said. Weren’t you even a little bit scared about becoming a mum? I mean, babies don’t come with a manual.’