I smile as she confirms it. “Neil must be chuffed.”
“Oh, you know Neil. If we won the lottery he’d just say,Cool.” She carries on stroking Murphy. “But, yes. I think this is one of the only times I’ve ever seen a tear come to his eye.”
“So, a Christmas baby.” Callie hands Tamsin another herbal tea. (I got it in especially, as soon as I dreamed about Harry.) “That’s exciting.”
Tamsin hoots. “Remind me of that on their birthday next year, and all the years after that. Shocking planning.”
“Will you find out what you’re having?”
“No. Want it to be a surprise.”
I shoot Callie a smile, look quickly away. It seems all wrong that we know the best part (You’re having a boy, and you’re going to call him Harry) seven whole months before Tamsin will. Though already I can feel a familiar undertow of fear:I only ever want to dream good things about him.
Tamsin sips her tea. She’s wearing a cream-and-navy-checked cotton dress, a pair of those sandals with woven soles. The sunglasses on top of her head hold back her copper waterfall of hair. “Mum was about eight weeks with Doug, I think, when she married Dad.”
There’s a slightly awkward picture of it somewhere. Me, not yet two, sandwiched between my parents standing stiffly on the register-office steps.
In my mind, the awkwardness mutates. Did they look uncomfortable because the child on Mum’s hip was another man’s? Did Dad know anything for sure? Or did he sense it subconsciously?
What happened, Mum? Why did we never talk about it?
“This one was conceived out of wedlock,” Tamsin says to Callie. She winks at me. “We think that’s why he’s a bit... you know. Errant.”
My blood ripples.Conceived out of wedlock—or someone else’s son?
Resting a hand against her still-flat stomach, Tamsin looks at Callie. “I can hardly believe it, you know. Neil and I have been trying on and off since Amber was a year old. I honestly didn’t think this would happen for us again.”
“We’re so happy for you,” Callie says.
“I just hope...” Tamsin falters.
My gut twists. “Don’t,” I whisper.
“But it’s been such a long time coming. What if something—”
“It won’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do. I do know.” More slowly, my eyes repeat it for her.I do. I do know.
“How?”
Callie grips my hand. I force my expression into neutral. Today isn’t about me, it’s about Tamsin. “Just trust me, okay?” I say. “Everything will be fine. I promise.”
It seems to be enough. She nods, just once. Uses the tissue Callie’s passed her to dab away stray tears. “I guess this is what happens when you want something too much.”
“No such thing as too much.”
She manages a smile. “So what about you?”
“What about me?”
“Notyou. Youtwo. Fancy making me an auntie?”
I keep hold of Callie’s hand but deadpan the question. “Tam, it’s been six months.” Callie’s not even moved in yet officially. But she has told Steve. And molehills of her stuff have started springing up across the flat. I glance at her herbs and houseplants, lined up now on the windowsill. She brought them down yesterday, along with her window box, and the sudden burst of greenery felt like a flurry of fresh air. This week she’s got plans to fill the patio with flowerpots, plant them with summer blooms for the bees and the butterflies.
“Stranger things have happened,” Tamsin says.
