The insane thing was that I also missed Quin. He’d been my buddy as well as my boyfriend and I bumped up against his absence every day.

But my life was far from empty. Helen checked in on me regularly. That was what her texts actually said: It’s me. Checking in on you regularly. Are you okay? Yes? No? A one-word reply is fine. No need to write War and Peace.

During the last month and a half, I’d never had so many invitations. In between redoing my steps, I’d helped Murdo paint his new flat, spent an auntie-and-niece afternoon with Holly (manicure, volunteering), got sunburnt on a chilli cook-out with Brianna and her neighbours, had a glorious weekend of Atlantic squalls and dazzling sunshine with Brigit and tried a woodcarving class with Margaret. (It wasn’t for either of us.)

Despite my many activities, I was lonely. But it was my doing. No one had made me sleep with Luke.

And I wasn’t broken the way I’d been when Luke had left me, six years ago.

‘Rachel,’ Claire said as she strode up the side of a hill, ‘no matter what you think, your life isn’t over. You probably won’t be alone forever.’

‘I’m not alone. I love lots of people and they love me.’

‘Yeah, but…’ She hesitated. ‘Nieces? Sisters? People you work with?’ She shook her head. ‘Nah.’

‘For a so-called feminist, you’ve some worrying ideas.’

‘Just being honest, saying what everyone else thinks but is afraid to. Equal pay? Thanks very much. Ridey men? Thanks, I’ll have them as well. What about Murdo? He’s single now. That’s why he moved into the new apartment.’

‘Leave poor Murdo out of this. Anyway, my life has no room for men.’ Tongue-in-cheek, I said, ‘I’m doing work on myself.’

‘I know you’re being funny, but, Rachel, what exactly does that mean? I hear people say it and, honestly, I haven’t a clue.’

‘It means I must feel my uncomfortable feelings and not numb them.’

‘But what’s the actual “work”?’

‘Feeling the feelings is the work.’

‘It’s that passive? They always make it sound like they’re, I dunno, rummaging around inside themselves, moving their spleen two millimetres to the left, having a good look at their pancreas. Not numb my feelings? That’s easy!’

Not for everyone. She was a character.

‘What age is Murdo?’ she asked.

‘Too young.’

‘Does that mean you fancy him?’

‘I don’t.’ Murdo could have been sexy, I didn’t know—because he had those giant pierced earlobes, so big you could pass a carrot through. They were immediate dealbreakers.

Thoughtfully, Claire said, ‘My Spidey senses tell me that if you went to Quin and grovelled, he’d probably take you back.’

‘And he could just as easily have got married to Golden. Or met someone else. He probably hates me.’

‘Do you hate him?’