“How long?” she shouted, hurling the negative test against the wall, “we’ve been trying for months and nothing is happening.”

“Maybe we should book in at that fertility clinic. It might make us feel better.”

“Why does everyone else get to have children, and we can’t?”

Truthfully, I didn’t know how to answer that question. The only response I could muster was this bizarre, solemn shrug. I caught a glimpse of it in the bathroom mirror, and it wouldn’t have made me feel any better either. Essentially, we were both going through the same thing, and as long as we stayed strong, it would happen eventually, right? For some reason, life had just thrown everything at us, one thing after another. We needed to remain positive; we were going to get the house of our dreams and start building a family, just like we’d dreamt of.

“I don’t know, Ames. But it will happen for us.”

“I’m sorry, Harry. I know I didn’t want a family at first, but I do now. So badly.”

“Me too. Come on, I’ll make you a cuppa.”

I could see her heart splintering in front of me, but mine was breaking, too. It’s so hard to comfort someone when you feel the exact same as them. I would have thought it would bring us closer together, but it didn’t. If anything, it was starting to create a rift between us. To be clear, not because I blamed her; we didn’t know why we couldn’t conceive. It was just the constant pressure of reassurance I needed to provide that was getting to me. I made her a cup of tea, and she barely touched it.

I had to get my head in the game. It was Saturday morning, and I needed to go back to Filey to meet the Broadheads. More difficult than that, I had to come up with a plausible explanation for going up to Filey without Amelia. She was still in a delicate state after last night’s bad news, so I had to tread carefully. She was still asleep; I don’t think she got a wink of sleep during the night.

I started frying up some eggs and bacon for breakfast. A mixture of the smell and the noise would normally rouse Amelia from her deep slumber. It was also my pathetic way of trying to make her feel better before I announced I was abandoning Amelia to her grief for the weekend. As soon as the bacon started sizzling on the skillet, I heard the floorboards creaking as Amelia left the bed.

“Morning, love,” I said warmly, “breakfast?”

“Morning. Not hungry,” she replied, still half asleep.

“You have to eat something, Ames.”

“Honestly, I’m fine. I’ll get something later.”

“Fine.”

I pushed the bacon around the pan with the spatula, and I could feel Amelia’s gaze burning a hole in the back of my head. She knew I was about to announce something. Half the time she was able to read my own thoughts before I could even express them.

“Listen, I need to run up to Filey today, but I’m not staying over. Steve needs some help with something.”

“Help with what?”

“Something to do with his books. They are a mess, apparently. His accountant doesn’t do weekends, and he needs to get them sent off before Monday.”

“That’s late notice, isn’t it?”

“Well, you know what Steve’s like.”

“I’ll miss you, though.”

“I’ll miss you, but he’s my oldest friend, and needs some help. I’ll be back before you know it.”

“Okay. I was planning to look at that clinic today. We clearly need some help, and you are right. It will make me feel better.”

More expense, I thought.

“That’s a great idea. Definitely the right thing to do.”

“I love you, Harry.”

“Love you, too.”

Amelia finally conceded she was hungry, and we shared breakfast together and said our goodbyes. I always felt guilty about lying to her, but she couldn’t find out what I was about to do. I knew it was wrong, but I didn’t think she could handle anything else before she descended into a mental breakdown. Despite my frequent protests, she was already popping those prescription pills like they were sweets. I just needed to get our finances in order, and everything else should fall into place after that.

Once I got out of Manchester, the traffic eased off, and I pretty much had the roads to myself. I wound down the windows on the motorway, and the cool air refreshingly slapped against my face. I liked the long drives back to Filey; I’d never felt at home in Manchester, and the drive was where I got most of my thinking done. I desperately hoped I was making the right decision.

I pulled into Steve’s holiday park. It was right next to Filey Brigg, and the salted sea air danced playfully on my tongue. Steve lived in a detached house on the same property, and it was a total mess. Because he was single and didn’t mind living like a pig, he didn’t have much inspiration to fix the place. I parked on the gravel driveway leading up to the house. Half of the windows had been boarded up, but it was just out of view from the caravans, so I guess it didn’t bother him. He was all about business now.

I knocked on the door, and there were no signs of life. I checked my watch; I’d arrived on the wrong side of midday for Steve; he was likely hungover. I fumbled around to try and find my phone to give him a call, but he opened the door before I got to it. When he emerged in the doorway, he was wearing a floor-length silk dressing gown, and I nearly collapsed in laughter.

“What the hell are you wearing?” I laughed.

“Have a little respect, young Harry. This is a traditional silk kimono,” Steve announced with a twirl.

“You aren’t going to the Broadheads like that.”

“They are men of culture, Harry; they will respect it.”

“The loan sharks, right,” I smirked, “well, at least they won’t break my legs. They will be too busy laughing.”

“We are meeting at one of their warehouses in two hours.”

“Right, well, you better get dressed; we need to get moving.”

“Righto.”

Steve turned around to go up the stairs. I took a few steps into his house, but I dared not go any further. My feet stuck to the tacky floor in his hallway. I dreaded to think what the substance was. He’d really let this place go to wreck and ruin; it was a state when he first got the place, but he’d only made it worse. Even the wallpaper was trying to flee this place. It was peeling off almost in full sheets. Cans of lager and cider littered the floor, interspersed with half-eaten packets of crisp and wrappers. I was tempted to take a picture, and the next time Amelia accused me of being undomesticated, I could have shown her. Steve was furiously running around upstairs, getting ready. He was only gone a few minutes before he came bounding down the stairs in a shirt and jeans.

“This any better?” He asked.

“Better. But no shower? Classy.”

“Just had one.”

“I’ll keep the windows open in the car.”

We both got in my car and began the journey to Leeds. I was bricking it, but Steve had a way of calming me down. He was so laid-back about everything, even casual in the face of lending a huge sum of money from a bunch of notorious criminals. He directed me into the car park of a warehouse in a grim-looking industrial estate.

“Park up here,” he instructed.

“What’s the plan?” I asked.

“Well, you aren’t walking into a bank here, mate. They are going to want collateral.”

“Collateral? I don’t have anything, Steve. That’s why I’m here.”