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“Here we go! A class photo!” Carrie held it up triumphantly.

Michael wandered over, and she passed it to him. “This looks like we must have been in about Year 4. Yes, that’s Mr Whiting.”

Dylan took the pan he was watching off the heat and came to take a look.

He stood behind Lucy and put a hand on her shoulder. She had to resist leaning her cheek onto it and returned her attention to the photo.

“Yeah, Year 4,” Dylan said.

“Of course you two were standing together,” Carrie laughed, pointing them out.

Lucy stared at nine-year-old Dylan with his tie askew and his hair looking like it needed a brush. He was shorter than Michael. Would their baby look like him? Or her? Or a mixture of them both?

“What’s with the desire to see the childhood photos?” Michael asked, pulling another photo of him and Dylan out of the box. He handed it to Lucy. They were sat on a sofa and looked about six, and like butter wouldn’t melt in their mouths. “Are you going to use one as part of a curse on my friend to get him back for how awful it must be living with him?”

“Dylan is a delight to live with,” Lucy said immediately. She spotted a glance between Carrie and Michael and ignored it, turning her head to focus on Dylan. “You saw plenty of childhood photos of me. It’s only fair that I get to see some of you.”

“There aren’t as many of me,” Dylan said quietly.

“I’m glad I got to see some,” Lucy replied, placing her hand on his.

The evening passed in the relaxed way it does when you’re spending time with people you’re truly comfortable with. The food was good and plentiful and Lucy felt a glow of happiness sitting next to Dylan, her cheeks aching from smiling so much, despite how potentially terrifying it was that her heart seemed determined to pit itself against her common sense and past experience.

“I have to be honest, Michael,” Dylan said, as he helped himself to a second serving of ice cream from one of the pots littering the kitchen table. “I’m not sure you’ve quite achieved the level of dinner party sophistication you were aiming for.”

“I blame the guests,” Michael replied, making everyone laugh. He watched as Dylan added hundreds and thousands to his dessert. “And, my wife . . . why do we have hundreds and thousands?”

“They’re Dylan’s favourite,” Carrie said, with a shrug.

“I can’t believe you’re going to be a dad,” said Michael, with a shake of his head.

Lucy immediately looked over at Dylan to check he was OK, a wave of protectiveness flooding over her. She was sure she spotted his cheerful expression fall for a second before a smile was once again plastered on his face. “Right?” he replied. “Crazy.”

“You’re going to be a great dad,” Lucy said, placing a hand on his arm. She gave it a little squeeze.

“Not compared to Super Dad here,” Dylan quipped. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen either of those girls truly phase you.”

“Of course they have,” Michael said, suddenly more serious as he looked at his friend. “And I mess up. Just ask Layla. No one’s perfect. I just do the best I can at the time.”

“But I’ve never even had a proper father figure,” Dylan said, focused on the label he was peeling off his bottle of beer. “The closest I had to one was Peter, who was very good to me and always tried to include me in stuff after he adopted you.”

“I was in the same boat until Peter,” Michael said, looking wistful as he thought of the kind bookbinder who’d taken him in when his mother who’d raised him alone had passed away from cancer. “And I didn’t know anything about kids when Layla was born. And think how young Georgia and I were when we had her. Insanity. But we worked it out, and you will too.”

Dylan looked doubtful.

“You’re a good person,” Michael reassured him, “and you’ll be a good dad. It’s natural.”

“What if it’s not? It certainly wasn’t for my dad; maybe it won’t be for me either.” Dylan looked so unhappy, Lucy took his hand in hers instinctively, ignoring Carrie’s raised eyebrows.

“Mate, I’ve seen the way you’re fussing over Lucy and your baby, before it’s even born. And look at how you are with Layla — you’ve been a wonderful godfather to her, and you’re fantastic with Poppy. You’re going to be a brilliant father.”

“The only baby I have any experience of looking after is Layla, and I didn’t see much of her when she was tiny because I was living in London then.”

“No one knows what they’re doing with their first child,” Michael said. “It’s terrifying for every new parent. Every parent is worried they’re gonna do something terribly wrong, but you get on with it, and eventually, hopefully, you realise you’re not doing such a terrible job.”

Dylan didn’t seem convinced.

“How about this: if you’re doing a truly terrible job bringing up your child, I promise I’ll tell you,” Michael suggested.