Returning home, she carried more than her fear that her mother would guess. It was not Chloe that she’d met, but Conor. At the beach huts, within two metres, unmasked.
After the appointment, a picture clasped in her hand. Perfectly formed, no bigger than a plum. Tiny, but big enough, and growing. Her mother had already suggested that she’d eaten too much cake.
It was time to face her fear. To let her mother know: she’s going to be a granny.