He stared at her blankly, the shock robbing him of his breath for a moment. He hauled it back in and frowned.

‘Me?’

They’d wanted him to give them a child?

‘Why me?’ he asked, his voice sounding strangely distant. Of all the people in the world, why me?

She shrugged. ‘Why not? I would have thought it was obvious. He doesn’t have a brother, you were his best friend, he loved and respected you. Plus you’re not exactly ugly or stupid. Who better?’ She paused for a second, fiddled with her spoon, then met his eyes again, her own a little wary. ‘Would you have said yes?’

He shook his head to clear it, still reeling a little from the shock.

‘Hell, I don’t know, Connie. I have no idea.’

‘But—possibly?’

He shrugged. ‘Maybe.’

A baby? Maybe not. Most likely not.

‘Definitely maybe? Like, probably?’

Would he? He tried to think, but he was still trying to come to terms with it and thinking seemed too hard right then.

‘I don’t know. I really don’t know. I might have considered it, I suppose, but it’s irrelevant now, so it’s hard to know how I would have reacted. But you would have been brilliant parents. I’m just so sorry you never had the chance. That really sucks.’

She’d shifted her attention to the cookie crumbs on the breakfast bar, pushing them around with her fingertip, and he saw her swallow. Then she lifted her head and met his eyes. Her whole body seemed to go still, as if every cell was holding its breath. And then she spoke.

‘What if it wasn’t irrelevant now?’

WAS THIS WHY she’d wanted to see him? To ask him this?

He searched her eyes, and they didn’t waver.

‘What are you saying, Connie?’ he asked quietly, but he knew already, could feel the cold reality of it curling around him like freezing fog.

He saw her swallow again. ‘I wondered—I don’t know how you’ll feel about it, and I know Joe’s not here now, but—James, I still really want a baby.’

He stared at her, saw the pleading in her eyes, and he felt suddenly drenched with icy sweat. She meant it. She really, really meant it—

He shoved the stool back abruptly and stood up, taking a step away on legs that felt like rubber. ‘No. I’m sorry, Connie. I can’t do it.’

He walked away, going out onto the veranda and curling his fingers round the rail, his hands gripping it so hard his knuckles were bleached white while the memories poured through him.

Cathy, coming into their bedroom, her eyes bright with joy in her pale face, a little white wand in her hand.

‘I might’ve worked out why I’ve been feeling rough …’

He heard Connie’s footsteps on the boards behind him, could feel her just inches away, feel her warmth, hear the soft sigh of her breath. Her voice, when she spoke, was hesitant.

‘James? I’m sorry. I know it’s a bit weird, coming out of the blue like that, but please don’t just say no without considering it—’

Her voice cracked slightly, and she broke off. Her hand was light on his shoulder, tentative, trembling slightly. It burned him all the way through to his soul.

‘James? Talk to me?’

‘There’s nothing to talk about,’ he said, his voice hollow. ‘Joe’s dead, Connie. He’s gone.’ They’re all gone …

Her breath sucked in softly. ‘Do you think I don’t know that? Do you really think that in the last two years I haven’t noticed? But I’m still here, and I’m alive, and I’m trying to move on with my life, to rescue something from the wreckage. And you could help me do that. Give me something to live for. Please. At least think about it.’

He turned his head slightly and stared at her, then looked away again. ‘Hell, Connie, you know how to push a guy’s buttons.’ His voice was raw now, rasping, and he swallowed hard, shaking his head again to clear it, but it didn’t work this time any more than it had the last.

‘I’m sorry. I know it’s a bit sudden and unexpected, but—you said you would have considered it.’

‘No, I said I might have considered it, for you and Joe. Not just for you! I can’t do that, Connie! I can’t just hand you a little pot of my genetic material and walk away and leave you on your own. What kind of person would that make me?’

‘Generous? I’d still be the mother, still be the primary carer, whatever. What’s the difference?’

‘The difference? The difference is that you’re on your own, and children need two parents. There’s no way I could be responsible for a child coming into the world that I wasn’t involved with on a daily basis—’

‘So—what? You want to be involved? You can be involved—’

‘What? No! Connie, no. Absolutely not. I don’t want to be a father! It’s not anywhere, anyhow, on my agenda.’