Run, Mummy, Run. Cathy Glass

Williams. Mrs Williams, some letters for you to sign,’ she said out loud and laughed. ‘It still sounds so strange,’ she said. ‘I won’t know who they’re talking to.’

      ‘Oh, you’ll soon get used to it,’ Mark said. ‘Then it will be time for you to leave.’

      ‘Leave?’ She paused. She was now hunting through the boxes that they hadn’t yet unpacked for a file she needed for work and was only half-listening to Mark.

      ‘Yes, to start a family,’ he said. ‘You surely haven’t forgotten?’

      She straightened. ‘No, of course not. But I’ll have enough time to learn my name. We’ve only been married two weeks. There’s no rush, is there?’ She moved to the next box.

      ‘True,’ he said, watching her. ‘But we can’t leave it too long. A woman is at her fertility peak during her early twenties. After that there’s a steady decline. It would be dreadful if we missed the opportunity.’

      ‘Yes, it would,’ she said absently. ‘You haven’t seen a blue A4 folder with the bank’s emblem on the cover? I need it for a meeting this afternoon.’

      He shook his head. ‘No, it could be anywhere. Look, we need to go now or I’ll be late, and that won’t create a very good impression on my first day back at work as a married man.’

      ‘Sorry,’ she said, and quickly closed the box. She grabbed her jacket and briefcase and followed him out of the bedroom. There was always the possibility, she thought, that she’d left the file at the office.