She shook her head. ‘No. Don’t want anything. Christ! Does it always hurt this bad? Will it stop?’ I could hardly remember, the exuberance of my children bursting from me, my own cleverness at producing them. Mike so proud. Proud of me, of what I’d done. Had I always known I needed to hold on to him? Had I seen his gaze tugged by Jake, ruffling his hair? Then I thought of Karen, only twenty-five, having him alone. How young and stupid we’d all been, gathering at the hospital like it was another party or holiday. Callum with a hip flask of whisky, passing it as we waited. Hadn’t we jobs, responsibilities? How had we all been able to wait for Karen like that, as the sticky summer day turned violet and evening came? And I knew, when we were shown in, Karen scrubbed and raw in her hospital gown, the baby worrying into her with his crown of dark hair, I knew I had to have some of that too. The glare of success on her face, like she’d been in a different light to the rest of us. A journey she could send no postcards from. The ultimate ‘you had to be there’ moment. I tugged on Mike’s arm, as he rushed over to her. Jodi already there exclaiming over the baby, probably thinking she’d have one herself in four or five or six years, no hurry. Callum soppy and tender, quite drunk already. ‘Bloody well done, Kar, you trooper.’ Bill not even there, far away in Sweden already.

I pulled on Mike as he strained towards the new life in the room. ‘I want this,’ I said. He looked back, confused – did he suspect this baby was his? On some level do we recognise our own blood? But no, I had to believe he’d have done so much more for Jake if he’d known. ‘I want a baby,’ I said again. We’d been married four months, the ring still shining on my finger, and I’d been cross with Karen for spoiling the wedding by puking into a centrepiece, her belly pushing out the bridesmaid’s dress I’d chosen. Not drinking on my hen do. Upstaging me, with all the whispers about who her baby’s father was. She wouldn’t say, hinted at some one-night stand. Maybe I’d been too preoccupied to really think about it. You aren’t allowed to say it but your wedding is perilously close to a licence to let out the selfish little diva inside all of us. It says to girls – you won’t matter any more, not after this, so for today you get to matter the most.