Usually I dread playing the hostess – perfect smile and perfect canapés – but I’m actually looking forward to our New Year’s Eve party. This time next year, it will be a much quieter affair, night feeds and nappy changes, but tonight, I’m going to let my hair down. I wriggle into my bottle green sequinned dress.

Nick is subdued as he threads the brown leather belt I bought him for Christmas through his jeans, which are hanging looser than they used to.

‘Hey.’ I run my hand over his flat stomach, feel his muscles tighten. The soft roll of flesh he usually carries at his waist has shrunk. ‘You’re supposed to put on weight, not lose it, this time of year.’ I’m worried about him. Ever since Christmas Day he’s been quiet. Distracted. Spending too much time in the basement, feet pounding on the running machine. Lisa is pregnant and I can’t stop talking about it; Nick, on the other hand, has little to say.

‘Lisa’s definitely coming tonight? I really want Richard to meet her.’ Nick tips aftershave onto his palms and slaps it against his cheek. He smells of wood and spice.

‘Yes.’ I check my watch. It’s almost eight. The guests will arrive soon, and I had hoped Lisa would come early, give us a chance to really catch up. These past couple of days I had tried to ring her several times but she hadn’t picked up, sending a text instead, saying:

I know what that means. It means she is having to pretend I don’t exist. She said she’d come to the party, though, and I can’t wait to find out how she’s feeling – really feeling – about it all.

Tonight will be mostly people connected to the charity or Nick’s employees or clients, although I’ve invited the theatre group and, as an afterthought, I’d pulled on boots and gloves and thrust thick silver invitations through every letterbox in the cul-de-sac. We’ve haven’t got to know our neighbours yet, not beyond raising our right hands in some sort of wave, like it’s a code, whenever we pass them in our cars.

The doorbell chimes. I stand on tiptoe to kiss Nick before I brush my thumb over his lips removing the trace of pink lipstick. I pelt down to the hallway and fling open the front door.

‘Happy New Year!’ Alex hands me a bottle of champagne.

‘We can’t stop for long.’ Tamara air kisses hello. ‘We have another party to go to.’

I usher them inside, along with Clare who was standing behind them, balancing Ada on one hip.

‘Hello, sweet girl,’ I say to Ada. She’s dressed as Snow White and looks adorable with her long dark ringlets, blue eyes, and porcelain skin. She’s already stunning and she’s not yet two.

‘Hello, beautiful!’ Nick clatters down the stairs.

‘Hello, Nick!’ Clare laughs.

‘I wasn’t talking about mummy, was I?’ Nick holds out his arms, and Clare passes Ada over, and she wraps her legs around his waist like a baby monkey. ‘Glad you made it.’ Nick smiles at Clare.

‘Not often I get the chance to go to parties nowadays. It’ll be your big birthday bash next, won’t it?’ She jabs me with her elbow.

‘Not a chance.’ A look passes between them but I don’t care. I really want something low-key. ‘Let’s get some drinks.’

In the kitchen, I introduce Nick to Tamara and Alex as Clare prises off lids from Tupperwares she has brought with her in a carrier bag. Her nails are impossibly long and embellished with Santa faces.

‘These goodies are leftovers from the café yesterday.’

‘You’re a lifesaver.’ I pull a plate from the cupboard, grateful for Clare’s part-time job. It’s beyond me how she can afford her big house on her wages from the café. We’d shared a bottle of wine before Christmas, and she’d let slip how tight money is. It didn’t sound like Akhil, her ex, was paying maintenance, for some reason, but I didn’t pry. Our friendship is too new.

I lift out vol-au-vents filled with creamy mushroom and prawns, cheese straws sprinkled with sesame seeds, and filo parcels. I bite into one and my taste buds tingle as cranberry explodes onto my tongue, drawing out the flavour of the Brie.

‘Gorgeous,’ I say. ‘And speaking of gorgeous – check you out!’

‘I hope you won’t be the only one checking me out,’ she says fluffing her long blonde hair and pouting with red lips. ‘I’m single and I’m going to mingle.’ She winks as she walks away, and I want to laugh but I’m on edge, constantly listening out for the doorbell, desperate for Lisa to arrive. Where is she?

Tamara helps me plate up the rest of the food.

‘Are you really okay, Tam? With me playing Maria? I don’t mind being Anita.’

‘It’s fine.’ Her smile is warm. ‘I’m just glad we’re finally putting on West Side Story. We tried a few years ago but—’

‘But?’

‘The lady playing Maria died.’

The house is filling with people, with laughter. The smell of mulled wine wafting from the slow cooker. Alex and Richard are chatting in the corner. Clare is deep in conversation with Nick. Even the nosy woman with red hair from a few doors down has come. I should be happy but there’s an uneasiness in the air and, as I take a deep gulp of my wine, I wonder whether anyone can feel it but me.

* * *

The starlight projector in the nursery hums as the motor rotates, casting a solar system on the ceiling. It is hypnotic rocking back and forth in the nursing chair, my head resting against a cushion. I’m transfixed by the moon and stars. The sense I could stretch out my fingers and touch them. Downstairs the party is loud; raucous laugher increasing in volume. The Rat Pack Christmas songs I’d been streaming earlier, has been replaced by an eclectic mix of pop songs. Mark Ronson’s ‘Uptown Funk’ fades out and Brotherhood of Man urge ‘Save your Kisses for Me’. Earlier, I had switched on the patio heater as the string of fairy lights glowed prettily around the pergola, and placed ashtrays on the garden table. I didn’t want anyone smoking indoors. Now, the smell of cigarette smoke wafts up the stairs but I find I don’t care whether there is ash over the carpet or fag burns on the sofa. I don’t care about anything except the fact Lisa is not here.

‘Kat?’ Nick calls up the stairs, and I wipe my tear-stained cheeks on the ears of the floppy rabbit I’ve been cradling on my lap. ‘It’s nearly midnight.’

‘Coming.’ I stand and I am spinning with the stars, stumbling to the side, knocking over an empty wine bottle with my foot. Have I really drunk all that? No wonder I am emotional.

Gripping hold of the bannister tightly I slowly descend the stairs. Reaching the bottom, I hear a knocking sound over the music.

Throwing the door wide to a blast of freezing air, I lurch forward, enveloping Lisa in a hug.

‘You came!’

‘Sorry I’m so late – my car wouldn’t start and I had to call a taxi. I don’t suppose you’ve got some cash, have you? I asked the cabbie to stop at a cashpoint, but I don’t think he understood me.’

‘But I gave you the money for the garage?’

‘I know. They must have been a bunch of cowboys.’

‘Can’t you?—’ A sharp beep of the taxi’s horn blasts. We’ll have to talk about it later. ‘Come in. I’ll grab my purse.’

She steps onto the mat and pushes back her hood. She looks pale and I hope she’s not going to suffer from morning sickness. I am overwhelmed with what she is doing for me. For us, I remind myself as I hear Nick’s voice drifting out from the lounge followed by a peal of tinkling laughter. ‘How much is it?’ I unzip my handbag hanging on a hook by the door.

‘It’s £200.’

I know I don’t have enough in my purse, and I’m over the limit and can’t drive to the cashpoint but then I remember the safe. Nick keeps some cash in there. It’s in his study. I don’t usually open it, but with the meter on the cab ticking, I’m sure he won’t mind. The numbers glow green as I punch in the combination, Nick’s birthday, and pull out a bundle of notes. As I turn around, Lisa is leaning against the doorframe, pulling off her gloves.

‘I’ll take the money out.’ She holds out her hand. ‘I’ve still got my coat and shoes on. Make me a hot drink, would you?’

I hand over the cash.

In the kitchen, I am tipping boiling water onto coffee granules when the front door slams.

‘All sorted.’ Lisa wraps her hands around the mug as I add a splash of milk.

‘Who’s this then?’ Richard scoops a handful of peanuts, dropping them into his mouth.

‘This is Lisa, our surrogate. Lisa, this is Richard, Nick’s friend and our solicitor.’

A frown furrows Lisa’s forehead as she studies Richard. I look across at him and catch a flicker in his eyes. I think it’s a sign of recognition, but it is too brief for me to be sure.

‘Pleased to meet you, Lisa,’ Richard says but his words are as cold as the icicles suspended from the guttering outside the window like daggers, and just as sharp.