‘Please tell me what’s going on.’ My antennae is on full alert. I sense Ali within, her tense, wary posture. ‘I heard she’s dropped out of the play. Have you any idea why?’

‘She has her reasons.’ Christine’s expression is as closed as the door behind her. ‘It’s not for me to discuss her personal life.’

‘I’m simply asking if my daughter is okay. I’m worried about her.’ I raise my voice in the hope that Ali is listening. ‘Ask her to ring me. Also, ask why she didn’t meet Peter Brennan as arranged. It’s not like her to disappoint her friends. That’s why I’m so anxious to talk to her.’ I try one last time to pierce Christine’s cool Danish composure and there is a shift, a slight puckering between her pale eyebrows.

‘Alysia is okay, Nadine. She just needs time alone to sort out her feelings.’ She steps back behind the door and closes it. I feel as if it’s been slammed in my face.

I fight back the urge to return to the flat and barge into the room. Nothing will be gained by such a confrontation. At least I know Christine is looking after her.

Jake’s phone goes to message. He’s probably still asleep after last’s performance but he rings back shortly afterwards and listens without interruption when I tell him about my visit to the flat.

‘Did you talk to her?’ he asks.

‘Not yet. Christine says she’s okay. I suspect it’s to do with Mark. He must have ended their relationship.’

This piece of information adds to his relief and his tone lifts immediately. He detests Mark Brewer but I know that’s not his real reason. Karin Moylan cleaves to us like a caul.

Ali rings as the day draws to a close. ‘I’m in a taxi on my way to you.’ Her voice is a shrill whimper, almost unrecognisable. ‘Are you at home?’

‘Of course. Did Christine tell you I called this morning?’

‘Yes,’ she sobs and the phone goes dead.

Has Mark Brewer’s wife confronted her, revealed that her cheating husband has no intention of getting a divorce? Or perhaps Mark himself administered the cut and she’s found it impossible to continue working alongside him. One way or the other, I’m glad. Broken hearts mend, as she’ll discover.

I stand on the walkway overlooking the wharf. The breeze from the Thames is cool on my cheeks. A cyclist, wasp-like in Lycra and a helmet, dismounts and carries his bicycle into one of the containers. When the taxi arrives I walk down the steps to greet Ali. Her face is blotched from weeping. She runs past me without speaking. By the time I return to the container, she’s coiled on the settee, her face turned to the wall.

‘Can I have a tissue?’ She snuffles loudly and grabs tissues from the box I pass to her. After blowing her nose she pushes her head deeper into the cushions.

‘Turn around and tell me what’s going on.’ I speak with a calmness I’m far from feeling. Reluctantly, she sits up and faces me. The sheen and swish have disappeared from her hair. It hangs limply over her shoulders and needs a wash. She winces back from my touch.

‘Mark has left me,’ she says.

‘I’m so sorry, Ali.’

‘No, you’re not.’ She glares at me through bloodshot eyes. ‘You never liked him. Neither did Dad.’ She scrunches the tissues in her hand and pushes my sympathy aside with an impatient toss of her head. ‘You were both right, as it happens. Does that make you feel good?’

‘No, it doesn’t. I hate seeing you so unhappy. But I was afraid for you… the age difference – ’

‘We were supposed to move in together. We’d even picked out our apartment. He promised… what am I going to do… how am I going to manage...’ She bangs her fist against her lip and sobs violently, her thin shoulders shaking.

‘You’ll manage, Ali. You’re strong. You have a whole new future in front of you.’ I stop, knowing these are not the words she wants to hear. But they are the only ones that come to mind. ‘Why didn’t you tell me what was going on? I’d no idea you’d left the play until Peter – ’

‘I didn’t leave the play. I couldn’t perform any longer.’

‘Why not?’ I draw her close and she, weeping more freely, relaxes against me. My hand rests almost intuitively on the hard swell of her stomach. Suddenly, I understand why she’s been avoiding me. It seems impossible. It doesn’t happen these days. Not to street-wise young women like Ali with their pills and coils and diaphragms.

‘Ali… how far along are you?’

‘Six and a half months.’

‘Oh my God, so long. Why didn’t you tell me?’ I hold her pale, tear-streaked face between my hands. How had I not noticed? Even now, it’s hard to tell, the swell barely noticeable. I was the same when I carried her, slim as a rake until the last two months.

‘I don’t want it.’ She groans aloud. ‘I was going to have an abortion. But I couldn’t go through with it. I kept thinking I wouldn’t exist if you’d aborted me. You should have, you know, you definitely should have aborted me because my life is shit… shit… shit… and I wish I’d never been born.’

‘You don’t mean that – ’

‘I do… I do,’ she wails. ‘I had the opportunity to get rid of it and I didn’t and now it’s too late. I’m stuck with it. End of story and I don’t want it... I don’t want – ’

‘Ali, stop… stop. You’re talking about my grandchild.’

‘Grandchild. How great does that sound? I bet you want to be a grandmother like you want a hole in the head. And Dad too. Oh, God, what’s he going to say?’

‘The same as me. This is our first grandchild. I won’t have another word said against him or her. Where does Mark feature in all of this?’

‘He doesn’t want to know.’ She grinds out the words. ‘I kept thinking he’d change his mind when the baby was born. But, now, he won’t even be here. He’s been offered this brilliant opportunity to run a theatre in New York and he couldn’t care less about me or the baby or anyone except himself.’ She dries her eyes but her tears keep falling. ‘I hate him and I love him. How is that possible? He dropped me from the cast. He said sylphs don’t become pregnant. How can sylphs not become pregnant when they don’t exist anywhere except in his stupid play?’

She rages on and on. She’s exhausted and has probably forgotten what it’s like to have a good night’s sleep.

‘Ali, listen to me. That decision you made, for whatever reason, to keep this baby was a choice between Mark and your child. You chose your baby. Now it’s time to start respecting that decision.’

I make tea, toast crumpets, cover her with a duvet, and talk… talk… I’m dragging memories from the deep recesses of another time, recalling my father’s fury when he discovered I was pregnant, how his words on that night cut as deep as any blade I ever wielded. This memory strengthens me. I know that Ali has made the right choice.

‘I want to go home to Sea Aster,’ she says. ‘I can’t bear to be in London any more. Everything reminds me of him.’

‘This is a big city. Mark Brewer shouldn’t fill the width of it.’

‘But he does, Mum. He’s leaving on Wednesday. I’ve got to get away from here before then. I won’t be able to bear it… I won’t.’

‘But your father’s in Berlin and the house is locked up. He won’t be back for another week.’

This admission brings on another outburst of tears.

‘I’ll go with you and stay at Sea Aster until he returns.’ My mind is made up. ‘We’ll get through this together. Believe me, when this baby is born you’re love it as deeply as I loved you. And that feeling will never change, no matter what life throws at you.’

Jake’s shocked silence when I phone him sweeps aside the last residue of tension between us. He speaks to Ali for a long time. Afterwards, she falls into a deep sleep. I ring him again when our flight has been organised.

‘I don’t have the new key to Sea Aster. How will I get in?’

‘I’ve organised that,’ he says. ‘Eleanor has a spare one. Cora has agreed to pick you up at the airport. I wish I could be there to meet you.’