I’m currently on a flying visit to Glasgow and Manchester with the daughter to check out the universities, and the cities them selves. It’s lovely to have her back, telling tales of her travelling adventures, sharing new enthusiasms and plans.

So, sitting on the train watching the beautiful countryside wizz past, we talk, inevitably, about me and her dad.

It’s getting easier, I tell her. Less painful to see him, even kind of normal. Could you see yourself back with him? She asks. Not in a ‘I need my parents to be together’ kind of way. She’s not that sort of person and it wasn’t that sort of question. The answer is a calm but decisive NO.

We talked about plans for the future, the advantages of having siblings to share the load of stuff. The perks of being an only. ‘At least you inheritance will be yours’ I laughed. ‘Unless you dad has another child, of course.’

And a whole new line of conversation started. And a funny bet was made.

Years ago, when the daughter was four years old I had the first of four miscarriages. Each one building on the trauma, insecurities and heartbreak of the one before. By the last one I gave up wanting to try again. The pain, in its many forms, just too much to bear. So it was going to be us three (I hasten to add not ‘just’ us three, as I know now and really knew then how lucky we were to have our girl)

We then had certain practicalities to establish. Not wanting another baby means not getting pregnant. My body had been in the wars so I wasn’t willing to put myself through anything else. So a small, snippy procedure was mentioned, and as we both knew people who had had one I didn’t think it such a big deal. But it was. It became a very big deal, a case of any other future being denied to him.

If it was merely fear expressing itself with excuses that would make sense, but in the discussions at the time I knew it was a sign of something else. A commitment he wasn’t willing to make. It did, in several little ways, take its toll.

So to the bet. I joked about another child. But his lack of support over the practicalities of contraception had always been a drag on our life together. So will he step up if he meets someone? He’s still a handsome man and, while I don’t enjoy the thought of him with someone else, it’s perfectly probable. I may even be at that point myself one day. But I’m not ever going to have another baby – I can’t say the same for him.

So on the long train ride to Glasgow I wagered £50 he would in 5 years! And once I handed over the cash, it was hers to keep unless he had one within 10!

And I’m not sure why I think it might happen, but there is the doubt in my mind. Doubt that he really has started to take responsibility, act like a grown up.

Be a drastic way to be proved right. But one part of the bet was that the daughter had to tell him about it if I win! So he’ll know if I’m suddenly fifty quid the richer.