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nicer when she was swimming around,’ lamented Jacinta. She reached out and stroked the tiny body. ‘My sister’s looking after me.’
    ‘Daria?’
    ‘Mmn. And she’s snoggling with her boyfriend on the sofa and she said if I don’t get my bloody fish out of the house she’s going to flush it down the toilet.’
    ‘Snoggling, is she? Shame on her!’ Leila glanced surreptitiously at her watch, calculating rapidly. ‘C’mon,’ she ordered, straightening up. ‘Shall we give your glorious Angel a decent send-off?’
    Seven o’clock. They’d dug a grave by the hebe bush and lowered the coffin into it. They murmured a sombre goodbye, standing hand-in-hand in the light from the kitchen window, then hummed the theme tune of Neighbours. Not the most funereal of melodies, but it was Angel’s favourite song, apparently.
    ‘It’s a shame David isn’t here,’ said Leila. ‘He does a lovely funeral.’
    With a tragic flourish, Jacinta threw a handful of soil onto the pink box before Leila buried it. Then, lest Jacinta’s greedy gingercat should exhume the dear departed, they covered the little mound with stones.
    ‘We’ll make it into a rock garden in the spring,’ promised Leila, leading the way back into her brightly lit kitchen. ‘Little alpine flowers, and a cactus or two.’ She reached into the freezer and dug out a Cornetto.
    Taking a giant bite, Jacinta looked at the jumble of photographs on the fridge. ‘Who’s that?’ she asked, pointing.
    ‘My nephews.’ Leila smiled proudly. ‘Simon—he’s eleven, very clever, like you—and Daniel, who’s a little monkey. And the baby’s a girl called Sade.’
    ‘Where d’they live?’
    ‘In London. But the boys are coming to stay here after Christmas. They’d love to play with you.’
    ‘Okay. Can you and me make a cross to go on Angel’s grave?’ asked Jacinta, licking ice cream off her sleeve.
    ‘Yes.’ Leila steered her visitor towards the door. ‘But not tonight. I’ve got people coming any minute. Tell your sister to stop her snoggling and make your tea.’
    As soon as Jacinta had gone, Leila shot upstairs. She took the fastest shower in history (how did half the garden end up under her nails?) and pulled on a flowing black skirt and an emerald wraparound blouse.
    The curate’s house, a modern semi provided by the parish, was hopelessly cluttered. The piano, festooned with Leila’s sheet music, was jammed into what should have been the study. There weren’t enough shelves, and books lay in piles around the hall. Leila tripped over a box full of parish magazines as she scurried back and forth, trying to bring some order to the chaos, forcing gold hoops into her ears, all the while prattling distractedly to herself.
    Catching sight of her figure in the hall mirror, she stopped. Pulled her stomach in and her shoulders back. Made a mental note to start a low-fat diet immediately. Almost immediately.
    ‘It doesn’t really matter, though,’ she said aloud.
    The woman in the mirror smiled warmly out at her. She had elegant cheekbones and even, white teeth. It didn’t matter that David was late; it didn’t matter that she’d gained at least a dress size in the last year and was now a trifle squeezed in a twelve; it certainly didn’t matter that both the boss and the parents-in-law were due in a nanosecond, and the place looked like a bombsite. Because the miracle was happening, at long last. Someone was growing inside her, and life was about to change. This time she was sure.
    Humming under her breath, she began to adjust the turquoise band she wore around her hair, retying the knot at the nape of her neck. When she heard David’s long steps on the path she winked at herself in the mirror, flickering with secret delight. She wouldn’t tell him yet. No. Not yet. There had been too many disappointments over the years of their ghastly rollercoaster ride. She’d do the test first, and then she’d wait a while longer, to make