I’ve taken to skipping breakfast these past few weeks. Ever since I saw the footprints in the snow I’ve had a feeling of being watched. I’m not sleeping properly, and my appetite isn’t what it was. Rationally, I know it’s unlikely anyone followed me home from Farncaster, but my mind races, jumping to conclusions. After all, Nancy saw me in that magazine, didn’t she? God knows who else did. I know it’s most likely Lisa coming back that has set me on edge: the approach of the ten-year anniversary. But in the dead of night, when shadows loom, and floorboards creak, I’m surrounded by an aura of dread. The cold, bony fingers of the past are reaching out to me.

But today I will need my strength. I throw a couple of rashers of bacon in the pan, standing back as they sizzle and spit. Despite eating less, at our last rehearsal, my costumes would no longer zip up. Mortification heated me from my toes to my scalp as Tamara told me not to worry, she could easily order some more in a bigger size. That didn’t stop me standing on the scales the second I got home. They still said I weighed the same. I think the steam must have affected the reading and made a note to buy some more. That’s the trouble with working at home and living in leggings, isn’t it? You don’t notice the waistbands getting snug, and I may be skipping meals but I’m still eating chocolate Hobnobs as I work. Cramming them into my mouth as though the mindless chewing will keep my snarling memories at bay. It doesn’t.

Outside the garden is a riot of colour. April showers have nourished the weeds tangled amongst the plants. Nick keeps promising to tidy the borders.

The radio plays Corinne Bailey Rae’s ‘Put Your Records On’. It’s one of my favourites but I don’t sing along, focusing instead on slicing crusty white bread. One piece is an inch thick and the other is virtually see-through, but I slather it in ketchup nevertheless. I eat standing up, a tea towel tucked into the neck of my top to protect it from the grease dripping from my chin. When I’ve finished I punch out a text to Lisa.

The doctor didn’t repeat the early scan they did when Lisa thought she had miscarried so this will be my first time seeing the baby. Beanie is twenty-two weeks now and I’ve been so impatient. I was reading online that some women have their twenty week scan at eighteen weeks – every NHS hospital is different, Lisa’s midwife said – but that doesn’t stop me wishing we were one of the ones who had it early. Beanie is about as heavy as a bag of sugar. With eyelids and eyebrows developed and tooth buds in place. A proper little person. A mini ‘Jake’, I think but I brush the thought away as Nick sticks his head around the door.

‘I’m off.’

‘Wait!’ I hurry across the kitchen. ‘Kiss?’ I stand on tiptoe and he wipes the corner of my mouth with his thumb.

‘Ketchup,’ he says before dropping his lips onto mine.

‘Hungry?’ I ask.

‘No.’

He’s not sleeping properly either. Or eating. He tells me not to worry about the business, but it’s hard not to when he so obviously is. I wish he’d talk to me properly.

I don’t know how much trouble we are in. It’s impossible not to fear the worst. It’s selfish, I know, but I wonder whether we will have to move if Nick can’t sort things out. If we’ll lose the house. Where would we bring the baby up? I could get a full-time job, but what would happen to the charity? If I draw a salary, we’d have to cut down the counselling we offer and I’d hate for that to happen. It’s so important to people.

‘I wish you could come to the hospital today. I can’t believe you’re missing it.’

‘I know. I’m sorry. I’ve so much on. You’ll get a photo though, won’t you, and I’ll get to meet him or her in person soon.’

‘I can’t wait.’

‘Me neither.’ He rubs his nose against mine. ‘It’s getting real now, isn’t it?’

‘Very. I woke at 3 a.m. thinking I could hear a baby crying. My subconscious must be preparing me for sleepless nights.’ I am trying to convince myself that almost every night I am dreaming of the baby we are about to have, rather than ones I have lost.

‘Are you sure you will be okay today?’ He tucks my hair behind my ear. ‘It’s a long drive. For you. And you’ve been… fraught lately.’

‘I am not imagining things.’ I step back.

‘I know you think you saw footprints—’

‘I did.’ I can’t help snapping.

‘They weren’t there when I looked.’

‘The rain had washed them away.’ By the time Nick ventured outside the lawn was a mass of sludge and there was nothing to be seen. If there ever was.

Ten years.

‘I’ve told you there’s been someone hanging around outside too.’ There have been several times this past month I have tried to go out, and each time I opened the front door, there was someone stalking down the road, hands thrust into pockets, or a shadow crossing our driveway. It’s not as though there are many houses in our cul-de-sac. It’s rare to notice anything out of the ordinary. I am staying in more and more, unable to shake the slithering uneasiness in the pit of my stomach.

‘Like the other night?’

‘Do you have to bring that up again?’ I had stood at our bedroom window, eyes fixed on the motionless figure half-hidden at the end of the driveway. My palms began to heat, my fingers tingled and, by the time Nick came out of the shower, I was gripping the windowsill, body rigid. ‘He’s watching me.’ It had been an effort to speak through my shortness of breath, and Nick had looked at me, his blue eyes darkening with sympathy. ‘Kat, it’s just the black bin. I put it out earlier.’ He had gently drawn the curtains and led me to the bed where I lay waiting for my heart rate to slow. The buzzing in my head to stop.

‘What’s going on with you lately?’ Nick had asked, the mattress dipping as he curled himself around me.

You mustn’t tell, Kat.

My lips were pinned together as I turned to the wall.

‘Clare hasn’t seen anyone lurking around,’ Nick says now, as though that makes everything okay.

‘You’ve been talking to Clare about me? When?’ Yet again I have a cold feeling writhing around inside of me and I rub my arms as though I can warm myself.

‘I don’t have time for this.’ Nick picks up his briefcase.

‘You don’t have time for me.’ The words scorch my tongue.

As I watch him leave I want to call him back. Tell him I am sorry. I take a step forward but the outside world rushes in at me and, in my peripheral vision, I see movement. I twist my head but it’s only the wind battering the cherry tree. Nick climbs into his car, but before I can catch his attention, there’s a sound to my right. I jump. It’s only an empty can of lager clanking across our driveway. Hurriedly, I slam the door closed and lean against it.

My mobile vibrates in my pocket and I pull it out. My heart sinks a little when I see it is Tamara.

‘Morning, Tam.’

She skips the pleasantries altogether. ‘You missed another rehearsal yesterday afternoon, Kat. What’s going on?’

‘Sorry.’ I don’t explain I was fully intending on coming, but I thought I saw someone crouching by the side of my car, and I had shrugged off my coat, slipped off my shoes and gone for a lie-down instead.

‘We open soon. We’ve sold tickets already.’

‘I know. I’ll be ready. I will.’ But we both know I won’t be. I’m constantly forgetting the words. The dance steps. I can’t seem to concentrate.

‘You’re going to die on stage if you’re not careful. I could take over—’

‘No,’ I bite, sharper than intended.

‘I only want what’s best for the play.’ I hear the desperation in her voice, and I feel a stab of guilt. I’ve grown quite fond of her these past few months and we’ve become friends, of sorts. Her life revolves around the company, and I should make more effort. I’m not being fair.

‘I’ll be at the next rehearsal. I promise. We can talk everything through properly then. Sorry, got to go.’

I cut the call. I’ve got hours before I have to leave to meet Lisa. I look out of the window. The street is quiet. Silent. Inside, the clock ticks. ‘Die on stage.’ It’s a throwaway comment. Just a word. I am anxious and tense as I wait to see if I have another panic attack. Sometimes the fear of having one is the worst fear of all. My breathing is shallow but I think I’m okay. There’s a knocking as the washing machine starts to spin, startling me.

I stuff my feet into my shoes and open the front door. Clare is home. Her car is in the drive. My skin is tingling. I can just cross the road to Clare’s and have a coffee. Something small. Something normal.

I can do this.

I can.

‘You don’t look fine.’ Clare starts to pass me a mug, but she glances at my shaking hands and places it on the side table instead.

‘I am.’ Tucking my legs under me, I make myself as small as possible waiting for my pulse to slow.

Ada is building a tower on the rug in front of the fireplace. ‘Look!’ She widens her big blue eyes as she places another brick on the top.

‘She’s growing so quickly,’ I say feeling calmer now. I reach forward for a custard cream.

‘It will be your turn soon. How is Lisa?’

‘She’s good. It’s the scan this afternoon.’

‘You’re going?’ Clare asks.

‘Yes. It will be a relief to see everything’s okay.’

‘Are you worried?’

‘A little. It’s been tougher than I’d thought. Not being in control, I suppose.’ I don’t know where Lisa is. What she’s eating. If she’s taking her folic acid. It’s not how I imagined it would be. I place my hand across my middle, longing to feel the bubbling of a new life. Tiny kicking feet. Sharp elbows.

‘It will be worth it though. When he’s here. Or she.’

‘Yes, not that long to go really. Next week Lisa will be twenty-three weeks, and the baby’s lungs could be developed enough to survive if they were born early. Imagine that! Beanie will be the size of a large mango.’

Clare laughs.

‘Sorry, I get a bit carried away. Nick doesn’t seem interested in this stuff.’ I feel disloyal voicing my concerns, and I stuff another biscuit in my mouth as though I can force the words back in with it.

‘Men often aren’t. Akhil practically rolled his eyes every time I asked him for a foot rub or if he’d massage Aveeno into my stretch marks. You’d think he had nothing to do with the conception.’

‘And now?’ I haven’t seen him for a while.

‘He hasn’t seen Ada for ages. It’s his mum, really. She never approved of me and was disappointed Ada was a girl, her skin was too light, we gave her a Western name. Mother-in-laws.’ Clare rolls her eyes. ‘Don’t you worry though. Nick will be a great dad. You only have to look at him with Ada to know that. Did you bring the tickets? For the play?’

‘No. Was I supposed to?’

‘Last week I asked you for three. I’m bringing my parents.’

‘God, sorry.’ My mind is full of gaping holes – my memories slipping through the gaps. It’s stress, I know. ‘I’ve probably blanked it from my mind. Tamara has just rung to tell me I’m going to die on stage. I can’t say I blame her. I’m rubbish.’

‘I’m sure you’re not. It’s just her manner, isn’t it? Try to relax. You’ll be fantastic.’

‘That’s what Nick keeps saying.’

‘You’re lucky to have him.’ Clare nods as she speaks. ‘Most women would give anything to have a husband like yours.’ Her eyes glisten as she watches Ada’s tower wobble precariously. One false move and it will tumble to the ground.

Clare’s mobile phone lights up. She practically dives on her handset and turns it over but not before I’ve seen the name on the display.

‘Why is Lisa texting you?’ They’d only met once at the party, I’d thought.

‘Oh. I…’ Clare looks away before she meets my eye again. ‘We’ve just been comparing pregnancy notes. Exchanging experiences. I hope you don’t mind?’ Her cheeks are patched red.

It brings it home to me, once more, that no matter how many books I read, I will never fully understand how it feels to have a life growing inside me – acid reflux, swollen ankles, morning sickness – and all at once I want to weep into my coffee.