‘Quick, tell me quick.’

‘Frankie’s pregnant,’ she gasped.

I’m ashamed to say my heart kicked in. Not me. Not Clemmie. Not my darling girl. I had to take a moment to recover. Regroup. I set Archie on his feet and he toddled off. Frankie …

‘Oh my God.’ As I straightened, my hand went to my mouth. I stared at my friend. Her face was very pale, her lips bloodless. ‘How d’you know? Did she tell you?’

‘No, I found this!’ she hissed, producing a pregnancy-test stick from her coat pocket. ‘In the bathroom, in the waste-paper basket!’

‘Oh.’ I stared. There was very much a bright blue line in the window. Very positive. Very much pregnant. My head spun. I took her arm and led her into the sitting room.

‘But … is it definitely hers?’

‘Well, it’s not mine and I certainly hope to God it’s not Hannah’s!’

‘No, but … it could be a friend’s?’ I hazarded.

‘Oh, come on, Poppy. I know which friends she’s had in and out of the house and she hasn’t, recently. And I only emptied that bin the other day.’ Jennie paced around my sitting room, arms folded, eyes over-bright, her chin tucked in as if looking into the eye of the storm. ‘That’s why I was surprised to see it full again, with rather too much fresh loo paper, which had been stuffed on top to hide this. Of course it’s hers, the little –’ She stopped herself.

I sat her down on the sofa, perching beside her. She was hyperventilating a bit.

‘Breathe, Jennie, and think. Don’t go off the deep end. You’ve got to help her in this, not tar and feather her.’

She nodded, compressing her lips, her face grim, staring straight ahead. She knew that; but still, it was hard.

‘And if she’s just done the test, she’s probably only just pregnant, so all is not lost.’

‘Not necessarily,’ she muttered.

‘No, not necessarily, but let’s wait until we know the facts. Is she seeing someone? Has she got a boyfriend? Who could it be?’

‘Well, that’s just it!’ she cried, turning to face me. ‘No! No boyfriend, not even a friend who’s a boy, and trust me, I would know. I keep a very close eye on that girl. And she hasn’t even mentioned anyone, ever! Not to me, anyway.’

Suddenly Frankie’s words came back to me in a rush. What are you going to do in the holidays? ‘I thought I might get pregnant.’ And I thought she was being droll, ironic, sardonic, as she could be: brighter than she looked.

I got up quickly from the sofa; walked to the mantle to hide my face, reached ostensibly to fiddle with the clock, wind it. Something else had occurred to me too. Jennie knew me very well, though.

‘What?’ she pounced, on her feet. ‘What is it?’

‘Nothing, I –’

‘Poppy, you know something – what?’ She swung me round.

‘No, Jennie, honestly, I –’

‘Poppy – you have to tell me!’

I did. I knew that. She held my arms and my eyes. Hers were blazing with emotion.

I flicked my tongue over my lips. ‘OK. OK, but I swear to God I’m sure it was just Frankie being flippant, you know how she is.’

‘Poppy …’

‘Well, the other night, after babysitting, she dashed off across the road to get in someone’s car. The engine was running and they drove off together.’

‘She doesn’t know anyone with a car.’

‘And earlier, at the beginning of term, well – she told me she fancied a teacher.’

Jennie stared. Then shock registered on her face. She gave a strangled cry and staggered back, subsiding into the sofa, one hand covering her mouth. Then she looked up at me in disbelief. At length she removed her hand.

‘Which one?’ she whispered.

‘Which teacher? Um, I’m not sure.’ I wasn’t. I wracked my brains. ‘Could it be maths? Or biology? Yes, biology. But, Jennie, it was probably said as a jest. I’m sure she was just winding me up.’

‘Hennessy!’ She sat up with a sensational hiss.

‘Um, I’m not sure, and as I say – Jennie, no!’

She was on her feet now, striding out of my sitting room looking very dangerous, about to leave my house, car keys in hand. Jennie’s tall and strong, much bigger than me, but I sprinted past her down the passage and in one fluid movement got between her and the front door, quickly turning the Chubb key, locking her in.

‘No!’ I gasped, flattening myself against the door, arms out like a starfish. ‘You are not charging up there like this. You are not hoiking Mr Hennessy out of his reproduction class and making an exhibition of yourself and of Frankie in front of the whole school. I will not let you!’

She glared down on me, eyes blazing, nostrils flaring. ‘Out of my way.’

I quaked briefly. ‘No, Jennie!’

‘Out of my way!’

Glaring back defiantly and fully anticipating being manhandled, I braced myself. Then, suddenly, I saw her collapse. Her eyes dulled and her mouth drooped. She almost staggered backwards, to sit, as if her legs wouldn’t hold her, on the tiny Victorian chair in my narrow hallway, by the table with the phone. She bent her head and clutched at the roots of her hair with her hands, pulling hard. Then she sobbed. She sobbed and sobbed and I crouched down before her, holding her knees in her jeans, letting her cry.

‘My fault!’ she gasped, when she was able. ‘All my fault! I wasn’t there for her – didn’t help her enough. Wasn’t a good enough mother!’

‘Not true,’ I told her, gripping her knees, shaking them. ‘So not true, Jennie! It’s nothing to do with you, just a stage, a rebellious teenager stage, and you’ve always done your best by her!’

‘Yes, but if I’m honest,’ she gulped, raising her head and giving an almighty sniff as she pulled a tissue from her sleeve, ‘I’d slightly given up recently. I tried so hard when she was little, Poppy, out of love for her, of course, but out of a lot of love for Dan. But lately – oh, I don’t know. She’s been so tricky, and of course these days I don’t look at Dan any more and think: I worship the ground you walk on. So maybe I took my eye off the ball. Maybe I sort of thought: to hell with the lot of you, if you know what I mean.’ Her body shuddered.

I did. Jennie was a strong woman and kept that family firmly on track with lots of robust shouting and yelling, which I’d hear through the wall and smile at, knowing it was nothing more than hot air and knowing, as she told me, that if she didn’t, they became feckless. ‘Feckless!’ she’d snap. And she had her work cut out with the two boisterous younger ones, not to mention a husband who got into scrapes, and a stepdaughter who could be surly and unhelpful. But recently I hadn’t heard the familiar hollering through the walls. Certainly not with Frankie. That didn’t mean it was Jennie’s fault she was pregnant, though, and I told her so.

She gazed glumly at her hands, clutching the tissue in her lap; a bit calmer now, but shattered, I could tell.

‘Still. I could have hustled more. Probed. Questioned the interminable sulks.’ We were silent a moment. ‘Poor Frankie,’ she whispered at length. ‘Poor, poor darling. She must be so scared.’

She balled the tissue hard in her hand. I knew what she was thinking: that terrible moment when the blue line had appeared, the horrific shock Frankie must have got, sitting on the side of the bath last night, perhaps, or in her school uniform this morning. Then the walk to the bus stop, sitting on the bus, blankly watching the world go by, thinking: everyone else is having a normal Thursday. White-faced; devastated.

‘I’ll talk to her tonight,’ she whispered.

‘D’you want me to do it?’ I ventured.

We both knew Frankie talked to me. Quite a bit. Sometimes Jennie had been jealous. I knew she wouldn’t let a bit of jealousy get in the way of her daughter’s welfare now, though. She thought about it.

‘No,’ she said at length. ‘I think I’ll do it. And I promise I won’t scream and shout. No recriminations. Hopefully I’ve done all that in your sitting room.’

I nodded. ‘And you’ll let her choose?’

She stared down at me, appalled. ‘She’s sixteen, Poppy! Quite possibly pregnant with a teacher’s baby!’

‘OK, let me rephrase that. You’ll let her think she’s chosen?’

She gazed opaquely at me, her pale face streaked with tears. ‘Oh. Yes. I see. Suggest. Point out the difficulties should she keep it. But let her know I’d nonetheless be very happy to be a grandmother.’ She clenched her teeth.

‘Exactly, so the whole thing horrifies her and she instantly says, “Oh God, no.” But if you bully her and tell her what’s going to happen, she could go the other way, just to spite you.’

Jennie blinked. ‘You’re right. I’ll paint a picture of her aged thirty, with a sixty-year-old man on her arm, plus his middle-aged children and a stroppy fourteen-year-old of her own. She’ll be in Harley Street before you can say knife.’

‘Well, I can think of more comfortable analogies but that’s the general idea.’

She swallowed hard. Leaned her head back on the wall and looked beyond me, over my head. ‘We had such hopes, Poppy, you and me, didn’t we?’ she said softly. ‘When we set out? You with Phil. Me with Dan.’

I knew what she meant. Where she was. In our first flat, in Clapham. Which we’d painted lilac and hung with Chinese lanterns. Jennie, after a particularly barren patch socially, flying off to dinner with her handsome older man; me, well, casting around rather desperately, as we know. Settling for second best. Which Jennie hadn’t done. So, in fact, sharing a flat in Clapham was where the similarity ended.