Jodi filed those three words somewhere deep down in herself, along with all the other things she had to sit on day after day, and went to the door. She had to be quick now. She could hear footsteps from upstairs. She wanted to. ‘Go to sleep,’ she whispered urgently. In the kitchen she looked out the window – was someone moving out there? It was so dark. Was it Karen, and if so, why hadn’t she come in? Moving fast, she snapped on lights, like someone with nothing to hide. At the top of the stairs was Ali, in her white virginal nightgown. Quickly, Jodi grabbed the cafetière as an excuse for being up, dumped it into the sink, though it pained her to make such a mess. And that was when she first heard Karen scream.

Her son lost his latch, squawking, rooting blindly, and she transferred him to the other side, feeling a burst of joy. How easy this was. How clever of her body to do these things. Watching him feed, she wondered why she’d been so sure she needed Callum. Just fear, perhaps, of how she’d manage alone with a baby, how she’d pay the bills when she’d already given notice at work. Of failing at her marriage, being divorced, a single mother. Less than perfect. She needn’t have worried. What use would he have been anyway, drunk and maudlin, whining that Eric wasn’t biologically his child? She should have done this by herself years ago.