By the time I arrive at Silver Lee, BJ’s car is already parked in the forecourt. He comes tearing out to meet me, his hair tousled as if he has been running his hands through it and his eyes stormy with worry.

‘Where have you been?’ he demands.

I should feel guilty but I don’t. The cold, hard part of me is still in charge. ‘I went to see a friend of my mother.’

He stares at me in disbelief. ‘What the fuck, Layla? I’ve been so worried. You switched off your phone. I didn’t know how to reach you.’

‘I’m sorry. I just needed a bit of time to think.’

‘We need to talk.’

I put my hand out, the palm facing him. ‘Not today.’

He opens his mouth to object and I say, ‘Please, BJ. Tomorrow. We’ll talk tomorrow.’

He looks at me warily. ‘We have to talk. It’s not going to go away, Layla.’

‘One more day is not going to a make a difference,’ I cry.

‘All right. All right. Tomorrow. But it cannot be any later than tomorrow.’

‘Thank you, BJ.’ I look down at myself. ‘I feel a bit grubby. I think I’ll just have a shower first.’

He looks at me intently, but I ignore the look, I walk up to him and standing on tip-toes kiss him gently on the mouth before I go into the house. He stands where I have left him, staring after me with confusion.

‘Hello, Layla,’ Marcel calls cheerfully from the kitchen.

‘Hey, Marcel,’ I greet and go up the stairs.

I shower quickly, dress, and go downstairs. BJ is standing with his back to me looking out of the open windows. In one hand he is holding a glass of something amber, in the other a cigarette. An open bottle of Scotch is standing on the table. Its top is carelessly tossed on the table. I am wearing flat, soft-soled slippers and he has not heard me come down. For a moment I watch him. He’s totally lost in thought, his powerful shoulders hunched forward and tense.

‘I’ve never seen you drink Scotch before.’

He whirls around, his eyes narrowed, and running over me like water. ‘Yeah, I needed something for my nerves.’ He takes a long drag of his cigarette and kills it in the ashtray sitting on the window ledge. He straightens and looks at me. ‘Do you want a glass of something?’ he asks slowly.

I blink. There is a sharp pain in my heart. I haven’t even had a sip of anything alcoholic since I found out I was pregnant and he has never offered before today.

We stare at each other.

‘I’ll have a glass of white wine,’ I say softly.

He goes to the bar, selects a bottle from the fridge and pours me a glass.

I take it. Our hands touch, a spark runs through me.

Watching him over the rim of the wineglass, I take a sip. It feels cold on my tongue, but it doesn’t taste too good. Perhaps I am not in the mood for it.

He picks up his own glass, taking a swallow, and looks at me with deliberately blank eyes. ‘Want to tell me what you did this afternoon?’

I sit down on the sofa behind me. ‘I went to see my mother’s tarot reader.’

‘Right,’ he says carefully. ‘What did she tell you?’

‘Not much. Nothing that would help, anyway.’ I stare down at the floor

‘We’ll have other children, Layla. I promise.’

My head shoots up and my eyes are stern. ‘I don’t want to discuss it today. Please, BJ.’

‘Fine.’ There is a note of frustration in his voice.

I put my glass of wine down on the coffee table and clasp my hands.

‘Shall we go for a walk?’ BJ asks.

‘Yes, let’s.’

We don’t walk far. Both of us turning back as soon as we reach the end of the lane that leads into the forest. When we come back, dinner is ready and we eat it—well, push it around our plates—on the roof terrace in strained silence. Afterwards, we go upstairs, fuck like animals, and fall asleep entwined in each other’s arms.

The last thing I hear is his voice whispering in my ear, ‘God, if anything ever happened to you.’

I wake up in the early hours of the morning. One of the windows is open and a light breeze is coming in. Very quietly I get out of bed, slipping my nightgown over my head as I head for the nursery. The curtains are open and it’s bathed in moonlight. I open one of the tall windows and sit on the deep ledge with my legs dangling out. Down below the rose bushes are in full bloom. Their heads are so big they look like cabbages in the dark. In the distance the enormous weeping willow is very still. Its sad branches trailing on the ground.

I hear a noise behind me. I don’t turn around.

‘Can’t sleep?’ he asks.

I shake my head. He comes and stands behind me and I feel the heat from his body.

‘I don’t think I like you sitting on the ledge like that. You could fall.’

I look up at him. In the moonlight his face looks like it is carved out of mahogany.

‘I won’t,’ I tell him quietly.

He sits next to me, but faces the room. I turn my head and look into his eyes.

‘It’s already tomorrow. We need to talk, Layla.’

‘OK, let’s talk.’

‘We need a second opinion. I’ve made an appointment tomorrow afternoon with a specialist, an oncologist. He’s the best in England.’

‘I see.’

‘If he confirms the diagnosis then we’ll go ahead with the termination immediately and begin your treatment.’

I drop my head.

‘Layla?’

I look up. ‘And you’re all right with us never having children?’

He does not hesitate. ‘Yes.’ His voice is very clear.

‘I’m not,’ I say.

‘Then we will adopt. There are enough children around crying out for a good home.’

He has everything figured out. I touch his dear face. ‘I’m not terminating the baby, BJ.’