The view from the table.

The restaurant is a surprise to us both; an expanse of low light and mirrors, brooding hues and fine gauze. Its tables are wide, its chairs refined and elegant. That it exists at all in our contradiction of a city is relevation enough; that it exists in our home suburb, an area founded on blue collar sweat and the soot of decade upon decade of heavy industry is nothing short of miraculous. Yet here it is, our latest best-kept secret esconced on the top floor of a newly constructed hotel building, offering panoramic views across the highway and the canopy of trees, all the way across to the cranes, the coal-loaders, the bustling and clanging port. And here we sit, wondering how somebody snuck this high class, high rise dining experience into our shabby-chic little city; enjoying the experience, the incongruity, the occasion.

We have eaten out more than usual these past few weeks. Nothing fancy; just pub meals, club fare - the kind of food that ticks the box marked 'eating out' whilst simultaneously making you wish that you had stayed home and cooked something that you really wanted to taste, something better than you had just eaten. Tonight is not just another attempt to avoid cooking, though. Tonight is intended to be special and tonight we dress up, make an effort. We reserve a table and push the boat out, spend money we could not really justify if we paused too long to contemplate the expense. The money we spend will not buy us peace, nor respite - but these last few weeks have been strenuous at times, depressing at times, difficult at times - so tonight will serve as our reward for making it this far. Tonight we will go out, re-emerge and re-enter polite society, begin to try and move onwards from a period of time which began hopefully and finished typically.

The last few weeks could have been easier to cope with if we had adopted a more negative attitude at the outset, shielded our emotions and hopes behind a blanket of pessimism, cynicism. If we had gone into this latest and possibly last cycle of IVF secretly expecting it to fail - just as the five before it had failed - then we could be sitting here angry, snarling our 'told you so's at the world as we ripped our flatbread apart with unncessary force. If we had just been negative then this could have been the validation, the confirmation, the expected outcome. Instead we find ourselves trying to cope with disappointment because we allowed ourselves to hope; trust that this experience could be different. We allowed ourselves to believe the signs, the omens, the funny and unexpected instincts that made us wonder if our chances were better than before; that maybe our chances were finally good enough. When conclusion arrived as yet another negative result, we no longer had the energy left with which to be angry - because anger requires strength, momentum, motivation - and we already had dug deep into those reserves to survive the last few weeks. Now there was just empty space, dead air. Now there was just resigned acceptance and the inevitable search for something positive; for anything positive.

Sitting opposite her in these opulent surroundings, the only positive I can find is that we are well-practiced at surviving this experience. We are veterans these days - old hands at trying to conceive, failing to conceive and then trying to survive; to keep our heads above the surface of the flood waters that follow; that always follow these failures. Yet these failures, these sad outcomes have brought us together, closer, made us stronger. They have failed to make us new parents, failed to extend our family - but at times like these, you take your small mercies and your dry land where you can find them - and if we cannot have children together then at least we can have each other. At least we have her son and at least we share a future still packed with promise and potential, even if that promise and potential may lie in other areas, unexpected areas.

When we first began to ride this merry-go-round of hope and disappointment five years ago, there were times when I worried; when I harboured fears that failure would drive a wedge between us, separate us, ultimately finish us. Five years later and I know for certain now; know that we will not be broken by this. We will be sad, yes - but we will remain here, remain together. We have endured before, will endure this time. We are survivors these days and if there was a time when that were uncertain, that time is long passed now. We survive, we move on, we readjust. That is what we do, who we are. Those are the people we had to become.

Waiters buzz around our table, bringing huge cuts of meat to other tables, other diners. The atmosphere is vibrant without being raucous and it allows us to relax; to talk openly and honestly, laughing and smiling as we do so. We order drinks; order tapas which arrives to fill our table with small plates of meat, seafood, vegetables - and over the coming hours we touch on many subjects, the future included. Realistically, this was it. Realistically this was the last IVF cycle we could finance, the last cycle we would finance. Going into it, this was long talked about as our closure cycle, our resolution cycle - and yet I sit opposite her now feeling as if nothing has truly been decided, nothing resolved. Looking past her, looking out of the window and into the low light of sunset, all I see are questions; options to be considered, weighed up. I see no answers flitting outside on the evening's air, dancing tantalisingly on the last of the day's heat - but maybe it is too early for answers to be appearing. Maybe those answers will come when night falls proper; when more time has passed. Maybe tomorrow will bring answers, perspective - or maybe we will wait longer for that clarity. In the meantime I hold tight the one answer I have already; the one fact that I have held for some time - the certainty that time will protect us. Time will tell and time will heal - and these days, time is something that I know we have in abundance.

The evening draws on. Eventually plates are cleared, diners disperse and the restaurant slowly empties, quietens. Eventually it is just her and I, sitting and talking as our waiter approaches, asks if we are finished. I look at her, then look out the window into the black night outside and I do not know. I do not have an answer for him.