He laughed, a short, harsh sound that cut the air. ‘Amy, we spent the night together,’ he said—unnecessarily, since she’d hardly forgotten.

‘For old times’ sake,’ she pointed out. ‘That was all.’

‘Was it? Was it really?’

‘Yes. It really was.’

He stared at her, searching her eyes for the longest moment, and then the expression in them was carefully banked and he looked away. ‘OK. If that’s what you want.’

It wasn’t. She wanted him, but she couldn’t trust him, because when her world had disintegrated and she’d needed him more than she’d ever needed anybody in her life, he’d turned his back on her.

She wasn’t going through that again, not for him, not for anybody.

‘It is what I want,’ she lied. ‘It didn’t work, Matt, and there’s no use harking back to it. We need to let it go.’

His eyes speared her. ‘Have you?’

Let it go? Let her baby go?

She sucked in a breath and looked away.

‘I didn’t think so,’ he said softly. ‘Well, if it helps you any, neither have I. And I haven’t forgotten you, Amy.’

She closed her eyes, wishing he would go, wishing he could stay. She heard the scrape of a chair, felt the touch of his hand on her shoulder.

‘You know where I am if you change your mind.’

‘I won’t,’ she vowed. She couldn’t. She didn’t dare. She simply wasn’t strong enough to survive a second time.

He bent, tipped her head back with his fingers and dropped the gentlest, sweetest, saddest kiss on her lips.

‘Goodbye, Amy. Take care of yourself.’

And then he was gone, walking swiftly away, leaving her there alone in the middle of the crowded caf'e. She wanted to get up, to run after him, to yell at him to stop, she was sorry, she didn’t mean it, please stay. But she didn’t.

Somehow, just barely, she managed to stop herself, and no doubt one day she’d be grateful for that.

But right now, she felt as if she’d just thrown away her last chance at happiness, and all she wanted to do was cry.

IT TOOK her weeks to work out what was going on.

Weeks in which Matt was in her head morning, noon and night. She kept telling herself she’d done the right thing, that not seeing him again was sensible, but it wasn’t easy to convince herself. Not easy at all, and Daisy and Ben being so blissfully happy didn’t help.

She ached for him so much it was physical, but she’d done the right thing, sending him away. She had. She couldn’t rely on him, couldn’t trust him again with her heart. And she was genuinely relieved when her period came right on cue, because although she might want him, the thought of going through another pregnancy terrified her, and for the first time since the wedding she felt herself letting go of an inner tension she hadn’t even been aware of.

She could move on now. They’d said their goodbyes, and it was done.

Finished.

The autumn came and went, and December arrived with a vengeance. It rained, and when it wasn’t raining, it was sleeting, and then it dried up and didn’t thaw for days. And her boiler broke down in her flat.

Marvellous, she thought. Just what she needed. She contacted her landlord, but it would be three weeks before it could be replaced—more, maybe, because plumbers were rushed off their feet after the freeze—and so she gave in to Ben and Daisy’s gentle nagging, and moved into Daisy’s house just ten days before Christmas.

‘It’s only temporary, till my boiler’s fixed,’ she told them firmly, but they just smiled and nodded and refused to take any rent on the grounds that it was better for the house to be occupied.

Then Daisy had her twenty-week scan, and of course she asked to see the photo. What else could she do? And she thought she’d be fine, she saw them all the time in her work, but it really got to her. Because of the link to Matt? She had no idea, but it haunted her that day and the next, popping up in every quiet moment and bringing with it a rush of grief that threatened to undermine her. She and Matt had been so happy, so deliriously overjoyed back then. And then, so shortly before her scan was due—

A laugh jerked her out of her thoughts, a laugh so like Matt’s that it could so easily have been him, and she felt her heart squeeze. Stupid. She knew it was Ben. She heard him laugh all the time. And every time, she felt pain like a solid ball wedged in her chest.

She missed him. So, so much.

‘Oh, Amy, great, I was hoping I’d find you here. New admission—thirty-four weeks, slight show last night, mild contractions which could just be Braxton Hicks’. Have you got time to admit her for me, please? She’s just moved to the area last week, so we haven’t seen her before but she’s got her hand-held notes.’