Emma: Hello. Did anyone see you?
Nigel: I don’t think so. Simon’s Mum and Dad are doing some kind of wedding mambo step down there. It was really quite entertaining. I had to tear myself away.
Emma: Glad you managed.
Nigel: So am I. It’s lovely to see you. I am sorry you’re feeling rotten today. Is it the wedding?
Emma: No. I don’t know how to tell you this, so I’m just going to say it. Do you want to sit down?
Nigel: No, I’m quite all right where I am. What are you trying to say?
Emma: Nigel, I’m pregnant.
Nigel: Pregnant? You’re pregnant? Oh. Oh, I see. Yes. You know, I think I would like to sit down.
Emma: I’m sorry to spring this on you. I’ve only just found out for sure myself.
Nigel: Well. Well, you know, that’s wonderful news. It changes things, speeds them up a bit more than maybe we thought, but…Emma, will you marry me?
Emma: Nigel, I’m not finished.
Nigel: Are they twins?
Emma: No, no. At least I don’t think so.
Nigel: So, then…
Emma: I don’t know who the father is.
Nigel: How is that possible? I mean, excuse me for my indelicacy, but, who might the fathers be?
Emma: It’s all got a bit muddled lately. You could be--actually probably are-- the father. But then there’s John. And Frank.
Nigel: Both of them?
Emma: Yes. Frank was so unhappy when Irene left and we just ended up…together. And then John, when Martin died…
Nigel: I see. Maybe this is inappropriate, given the circumstances, but can I ask you something?
Emma: Go ahead.
Nigel: Who do you want the father to be?
Emma: Oh, Nigel, I don’t know. I really don’t.
Nigel: Well, why don’t you think about that. You know where to find me when—if—you get that little detail sorted out.