She’d decorated the nursery herself, as she had most of the house – an old Victorian property, which had been badly in need of renovation when they’d moved in. Steeling himself to venture into the room on his own, once Alicia had finally gone downstairs, Justin recalled how he’d almost had a heart attack when he’d found her halfway up a stepladder in her fifth month of pregnancy. She’d laughed away his concerns when he tried to dissuade her.

‘I know this is your protective gene kicking in, but I’m only two rungs up,’ she’d pointed out. ‘Being pregnant doesn’t mean I’m suddenly made of porcelain, you know? I’m fine, Justin, I promise. Go on, shoo. Go to work.’

Still, though, with Sophie staying over at a friend’s to work on the lyrics of their latest ‘going to be phenomenal’ pop song together, Justin had been reluctant to leave her.

‘Justin, go. You’re making me feel self-conscious,’ she’d urged him, blushing as he’d continued to watch her. With artistic flair, she’d been using a template to paint the pale blue wall with white seagulls, her tongue protruding in that cute way it did when she was concentrating.

Justin had smiled, and then stepped instinctively forwards, as she’d stepped down to deposit her paint tray. With her wild, caramel-coloured hair piled on top of her head and wearing one of his shirts as an overall, she’d looked possibly more beautiful in his eyes then than she ever had. ‘You look utterly gorgeous, Mrs Cole,’ he’d assured her, leaning in to brush her lips with a soft kiss.

‘And so do you, Dr Cole,’ she’d said, sweeping her eyes over his business suit – compulsory attire when meeting with the hospital trust, and which Alicia apparently considered a ‘bit of a turn-on’. There’d been a far too enticing look in her eyes as they’d come to meet his.

Unable to resist, Justin had eased her towards him, kissing her this time most enjoyably thoroughly. ‘I may have to take this further later,’ he’d said hoarsely, when they’d finally come up for air.

‘I’ll consider that a promise.’ Alicia had replied, delicious innuendo dancing in her eyes as they’d lingered on his. ‘Now, be gone, Dr Cole. You’re late.’

Checking his watch, Justin had winced. ‘Damn. I was obviously having too much of a good time. I’m gone. Be careful not to overdo it,’ he’d said, helping himself to another quick kiss. ‘Be good, baby Cole,’ he’d added, bending to kiss her tummy, should baby Cole feel neglected, and then heading fast for the landing. ‘And make sure not to overstretch,’ he’d called back.

Now, gulping back the emotion climbing inside him, Justin’s gaze strayed towards the cot. He’d found the baby butterfly wind chime hanging over it when he’d come home.

She’d painted the ottoman that day too. It had been her mother’s, and Alicia hadn’t wanted to part with it when she’d lost her, but they’d never quite found the right place for it. She’d rubbed it down and painted it white, topped it off with two cushions and a traditional teddy bear dressed in a blue striped nightshirt and nightcap. That had been the night Justin had learned their baby’s name. Lucas Cole. She’d stencilled it on the front of the ottoman, leaving space for his date of birth underneath.

She’d added that the week after they brought him home – six months, almost to the day, before his short life was stolen away. Justin swallowed as he looked towards it. He wasn’t sure whether it was his heart, or the wound from the tube they’d inserted to drain the fluid from his lung, that ached so incessantly. Whatever it was, he felt he deserved it. He’d been behind the wheel, exhausted, distracted. He’d been responsible for what had happened to their son.

Dragging an arm across his eyes, Justin walked out of the room, easing the door closed behind him, and then stopped and pushed it ajar again. Alicia preferred it open. She didn’t want to shut him away. She didn’t have to say it.

Stopping on the landing, Justin glanced at the ceiling, blinking hard, wishing he could do something to ease Alicia’s pain. Can I get you anything? He laughed scornfully at the thought of the banal question he kept asking her. Yes, she should tell him. You can get me my baby back.

God. Heaving in a breath which stopped somewhere short of his chest, Justin dropped his gaze, squeezing the bridge of his nose hard in a vain attempt to suppress the rage burning inside him. He couldn’t bring Luke back. Couldn’t undo the godforsaken day on which he’d been responsible for the death of her child. He would die himself, right here, right now, in exchange for his little boy’s life back, if only God were merciful and would let him.