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From her armchair, she tuts. “Of course I’m okay. You were barely gone for any time at all. You and David must stop fretting—I’m not about to fall apart.”

“Right, sorry.”

There must be something in my tone she doesn’t like because she lets out an exasperated sigh.

“For goodness’ sake! We’ve caught it, and we’re taking action. Besides, thyroid cancer has one of the highest survival rates of all the cancers, so if anything, I should be thankful.”

I shake my head. That comment is so Mum. Even in this challenging situation, her strength and resilience shine through. And yet I swear she seems . . . smaller somehow, more fragile. There are lines around her eyes and mouth I don’t remember, but then I suppose I’ve been studying her more closely than usual. Maybe I’m projecting frailty onto her because I know what she’s going through. In any case, I’d never tell her she looks different—she’d hate that.

“David was upstairs if I needed him,” Mum adds. “But really, it’s you we should all be focused on.” She gestures towards my bump.

Of course, Mum was surprised when I told her I’m twenty-four weeks pregnant, but she accepted it more readily than I was expecting. In fact, it’s given her something to concentrate on—a distraction from her own news—and it’s made her even more determined to get through this and be around for a long time for her granddaughter.

Her acceptance, while wonderful, has only worsened the guilt gnawing at me for not telling her sooner. Then again, Mum also kept a secret from me and David. Yes, she’s only known about the cancer for a week, but before that, there were tests and appointments. She went through the whole process by herself, which breaks my heart. We’re a family, and in times such as this, we need to support one another.

Everything that’s happened has made me realise my relationship with Mum isn’t as I’d like it to be. I don’t want to hide things from her anymore, and I hope she’s learnt she doesn’t have to keep things from me and David.

“I got us some goodies for tonight,” I say. “I’ll go pop them away. Do you fancy a tea?”

“That’d be lovely. Thank you, Grace.”

I shoot her a smile then collect the bags and take them through to the kitchen. It’ll be a quiet New Year’s celebration for us, just me, Mum, and David in front of the TV. But given my pregnancy and Mum’s diagnosis, that’s what we all need.

As the kettle boils, I put away the crackers, cheese, chocolates, and posh soft drinks I picked up while I was out. When I close the fridge door, my gaze falls on an old picture that’s stuck to it. It shows Mum holding David and me, one of us in each arm. We can’t be older than a few weeks, and Mum—although thirty years younger and sporting a smile—is clearly tired.

My pregnancy has prompted Mum to open up about what it was like to raise twins, and I’ve been learning about a different side to her. To me, she’s always been strong and almost invulnerable, someone who knows her rights and how to demand what she deserves. But she’s admitted that, raising me and David as a single parent, she often felt anxious and uncertain.

Back then, things weren’t like they are now, with everyone carrying around a smartphone that can answer any question. When we were babies, she didn’t have access to the internet at all—it was beginning to take off but wasn’t yet mainstream. There were times she didn’t know what she was doing and felt overwhelmed and lost, unsure how she was going to cope.

The revelation that there are chinks in her armour—a vulnerability beneath her tough exterior—has brought us closer. It’s also led me to confide in her in a way I never did in the past. I’ve told her, for example, about the photo album I found of Aidan’s travels, showing all the women I suspect were his conquests. I half expected Mum to tell me I’d be better off on my own, but to her credit, she bit her tongue. She simply listened, without—for once—passing judgement.

Growing in confidence, I voiced other concerns too. I told her what Aidan’s dad did to Elspeth, and saying it out loud felt good. At the back of my mind, there had been a silly, nagging worry that one day Aidan might betray me in the same way. By facing my doubt rather than burying it, I was able to remind myself Aidan is his own person and there’s no reason to suspect he’ll repeat the mistakes of his father. Again, Mum listened to me without making a single critical comment.

The kettle clicks, and I prepare the hot drinks, a breakfast tea for Mum and a camomile for me. I pop a few biscuits on a plate too, put everything on a tray, then head through to the living room. I’m just placing the tray down when my phone buzzes.

“Who’s that?” Mum asks.

We may be growing closer, but her nosiness remains a source of irritation.

I take out my phone and check. “It’s Aidan. He’s asking if he can call me.”

Since coming back to London, I’ve focused all my attention on Mum. Because I didn’t want her to know about the pregnancy, I avoided her at a time when she needed me. If I’d seen more of her, maybe she’d have opened up to me sooner and wouldn’t have had to spend Christmas by herself. To make up for that, she’s now my top priority, and that means putting Aidan on the back burner, at least for a little while. If he’s as good a man as I think he is, he’ll understand.

I put my phone down. “I’ll speak to him another time. Here’s your tea, and take a biscuit too. Can I hear a few more stories about when David and I were little?” I settle on the sofa.

“Give Aidan a call. We can reminisce later.”

“I’ve just made us teas, Mum. I want to chat with you while we’re drinking them.”

“Don’t be silly! Go up to your room and give the man a call. I’ll be fine here.”

My phone pings as another message comes through: Please, I really need to talk to you.

“Aidan again. All right, if you’re sure, I’ll quickly catch up with him.”

I head upstairs, taking my tea with me, then tap to call Aidan.

He answers after a single ring. “Grace?”