Nora’s smile was still there but she felt tears behind her eyes. This seemed a good life. A family of her own. A daughter to go on camping holidays with.

‘Listen,’ she said, as she realised she wasn’t going to be able to escape the bedroom any time soon. ‘When you have worries about things you don’t know about, like the future, it’s a very good idea to remind yourself of things you do know.’

‘I don’t understand,’ the girl said, snuggled under her duvet as Nora sat on the floor beside her.

‘Well, it’s like a game.’

‘I like games.’

‘Shall we play a game?’

‘Yes,’ smiled her daughter. ‘Let’s.’

The Game

‘I ask you something we already know and you say the answer. So, if I ask “What is Mummy’s name?”, you would say “Nora”. Get it?’

‘I think so.’

‘So, what is your name?’

‘Molly.’

‘Okay, what is Daddy’s name?’

‘Daddy!’

‘But what is his actual name?’

‘Ash!’

Well. That was a really successful coffee date.

‘And where do we live?’

‘Cambridge!’

Cambridge. It kind of made sense. Nora had always liked Cambridge, and it was only thirty miles from Bedford. Ash must have liked it too. And it was still commutable distance from London, if he still worked there. Briefly, after getting her First from Bristol, she had applied to do an MPhil in Philosophy and had been offered a place at Caius College.

‘What part of Cambridge? Can you remember? What is our street called?’

‘We live on . . . Bol . . . Bolton Road.’

‘Well done! And do you have any brothers or sisters!’

‘No!’

‘And do Mummy and Daddy like each other?’

Molly laughed a little at that. ‘Yes!’

‘Do we ever shout?’

The laugh became cheeky. ‘Sometimes! Especially Mummy!’

‘Sorry!’

‘You only shout when you are really, really, really tired and you say sorry so it is okay. Everything is okay if you say sorry. That’s what you say.’

‘Does Mummy go out to work?’

‘Yes. Sometimes.’

‘Do I still work at the shop where I met Daddy?’

‘No.’

‘What does Mummy do when she goes out to work?’

‘Teaches people!’

‘How does she – how do I teach people? What do I teach?’

‘Fill-o . . . fill-o-wosso-fee . . .’

‘Philosophy?’

‘That’s what I said!’

‘And where do I teach that? At a university?’

‘Yes!’

‘Which university?’ Then she remembered where they lived. ‘At Cambridge University?’

‘That’s it!’

She tried to fill in the gaps. Maybe in this life she had re-applied to do a Master’s, and on successfully completing that she had got into teaching there.

Either way, if she was going to bluff it in this life, she was probably going to have to read some more philosophy. But then Molly said: ‘But you are stopping now.’

‘Stopping? Why am I stopping?’

‘To do books!’

‘Books for you?’

‘No, silly. To do a grown-up book.’

‘I’m writing a book?’

‘Yes! I just said.’

‘I know. I’m just trying to get you to say some things twice. Because it is doubly nice. And it makes bears even less scary. Okay?’

‘Okay.’

‘Does Daddy work?’

‘Yes.’

‘Do you know what Daddy’s job is?’

‘Yes. He cuts people!’

For a brief moment she forgot Ash was a surgeon and wondered if she was in the house of a serial killer. ‘Cuts people?’

‘Yes, he cuts people’s bodies and makes them better!’

‘Ah, yes. Of course.’

‘He saves people!’

‘Yes, he does.’

‘Except when he is sad and the person died.’

‘Yes, that is sad.’

‘Does Daddy work in Bedford still? Or does he work in Cambridge now?’

She shrugged. ‘Cambridge?’

‘Does he play music?’

‘Yes. Yes, he plays the music. But very very very very badly!’ She giggled as she said that.

Nora laughed too. Molly’s giggle was contagious. ‘It’s . . . Do you have any aunts and uncles?’

‘Yes, I have Aunt Jaya.’

‘Who is Aunt Jaya?’

‘Daddy’s sister.’

‘Anyone else?’

‘Yes, Uncle Joe and Uncle Ewan.’

Nora felt relieved her brother was alive in this timeline. And that he was with the same man he was with in her Olympic life. And he was clearly in their lives enough for Molly to know his name.

‘When did we last see Uncle Joe?’

‘Christmas!’

‘Do you like Uncle Joe?’