January passes quickly. I check in with Lisa most days. You can’t be too careful during the first trimester. I’m constantly on edge, worried something will go wrong, but the month passes, and I cross off each day on the calendar. Suddenly we are in February and I allow myself to relax a little as we inch past that magic twelve-week point. Now the baby’s fingers can open and close, their toes can curl, and their mouth can make sucking movements. I read if Lisa prods her belly, the baby will squirm in response, although she can’t feel it yet. It’s all such a miracle.

Today is grey and dull. I feel I’ve made a million phone calls but nobody wants to discuss donating to charity at this time of year. There’s an increase in the demand for counselling too, and I’m already shattered. I sing songs from West Side Story to keep myself alert as I sketch out my ideas for an Easter fundraiser. I can’t decide on a theme and screw up yet another ball of paper, adding it to the others in a pile on the floor.

By late afternoon, the house smells of chilli; the light glows on the slow cooker on the worktop in the kitchen. I snuggle in the armchair by the kitchen window, engrossed in Three Sisters, Three Queens, by Philippa Gregory. It’s sad when women don’t trust each other.

It’s hard to concentrate. I spoke to Lisa earlier and am so excited it will be her first scan next week. I was disappointed they didn’t do it dead on twelve weeks, like I’d been expecting, but apparently, that’s only a guideline. Anyway, babies are more developed at fourteen weeks. The size of an apple. Beanie’s hearing abilities are growing so I’m going to speak to Lisa’s bump at every opportunity so that when he or she is born there is a chance they might recognise my voice. I can’t believe I’ll get to see him or her, and I can’t wait to tell Nick today I’ve learned Beanie has their own fingerprints and impulses from their brain enables them to make facial expressions. I wonder if I’ll be able to see their face clearly on the scan? I do hope so.

Nick is late home and, as I look out of the window into the blackness, it doesn’t seem possible it is only half past six. Rain lashes against the windowpane and thunder rumbles low and menacing. I’ve never liked storms. I pick at a grape from the fruit bowl next to me, biting it hard between my back teeth and letting the juice trickle down my throat. The rice is measured and in a pan; the water has boiled in the kettle. It will only take a few minutes to pull dinner together once Nick is here.

By seven thirty, Nick still hasn’t arrived and I’m worried. The roads are treacherous. I try his mobile, but it goes straight to voicemail, and the office phone rings and rings. In my agitation, I tap my mobile against my leg. Nick definitely didn’t say he was meeting Richard after work, as they sometimes do, but I call Richard anyway.

‘Is Nick with you? He hasn’t come home and I’m worried, it’s so icy out there.’

‘I haven’t seen him today. Listen, Kat, we need to talk about this surrogate thing.’

‘You mean my baby?’ Instantly, I bristle. ‘I can’t talk now. I need to find Nick.’

Cutting the call, I close my eyes. It’s not like Nick to switch his phone off. Even when he drives, he has it on the dashboard in a cradle and whenever it makes a sound he peers at the screen, taking his eyes off the road. I always scold him. ‘It was just for a second,’ he will say but I know a second is sometimes all it takes to change your life. Cars are dangerous, dangerous things. Panic ricochets around my mind and I try to tell myself I’m overreacting, but it’s impossible to keep calm as I pace the kitchen, googling the numbers of local hospitals. I can’t decide what to do. Nick’s been so preoccupied these past few weeks, the last thing I want to do is cause a fuss about nothing.

I pick up my book thinking I’ll try to settle by the window in the lounge instead. That way I’ll see his car when he crunches into the driveway, and I can dash back to the kitchen, cook the rice and he’ll never know how much I’ve worried. I don’t immediately switch on the light in the lounge. I stare out the window. The blackness has turned the glass to a mirror and, at first, all I can see is my worried face reflected back at me, but my eyes gradually adjust until I can make out a shape at the end of the driveway. A car. Nick’s car. My spirits lift as I wait for the click of the door, the interior light to glow, but there’s no movement. The clock ticks. Minutes pass. I don’t know how long he has been there but he must be waiting for the pelting rain to slow, I reason; my breath is coming faster, fogging up the glass. There’s something about heavy rain that feels almost ominous. The atmosphere seems to thicken. I wish the thunder would come and lighten the air. The rain batters the window and through the cascading water I notice the light from Clare’s hallway spilling out into the blackness as it switches on. Unable to wait any longer I hurry to the hallway and jab my feet into shoes, plucking the large umbrella from behind the coat stand. Opening the front door, I step outside. The wind whisks the umbrella inside out. Grappling to hang onto the handle I almost don’t see the shadow moving across the street, stalking towards my house, and when I notice it’s Nick I step back inside.

‘I was waiting for you to get out of your car?’ I turn my face away as he wipes his shoes on the doormat, shaking his head like a dog, droplets of freezing rain splashing my skin. ‘Did you come from Clare’s?’

‘Yes. I saw her pull into her driveway. I went to tell her that her left brake light is out.’

‘You’re so good. And now you’re soaked. Do you want to nip and get changed? Dinner’s ready when you are.’

‘Lovely. It smells great.’ Nick is distracted as he shrugs off his jacket.

From the kitchen, my mobile starts to trill Justin Timberlake’s ‘Like I Love You’, the tone I set specifically for Lisa as she used to love the song so much.

I hurry to answer the call before my voicemail kicks in.

‘Hi, Lisa!’ At first, I can’t make out whether Lisa has pocket dialled me by mistake, all I can hear is background noise, but then I realise it is her sobbing. ‘Lisa?’ My stomach flips.

‘Kat.’ Lisa gulps air and her sobs turn to hiccups. It seems an age before she can speak. ‘I slipped on the ice and… Kat… I’m bleeding. I think I’m losing the baby.’

And just like that my world shatters again.