Helena, probing and inappropriate as usual, had asked if she thought the tragedy had had the opposite effect on Michael? That through his own fear of abandonment, he’d make the connection too tight? Be too controlling? Amanda’s eyes, already no doubt swimming with booze, had widened in the light of this amateur psychologist’s claptrap. Yeah, she’d said. Yeah, you could well be right. In fact, it had happened before, to an ex of his called Rachael. She genuinely felt Michael followed her sometimes. She’d look behind her, and there he’d be. So Rachael had broken off the relationship. And sozzled old Amanda had said that of course she adored darling Michael and didn’t want to judge, but it was only natural they’d both suffered, as a result of such a brutal separation. She said it was why she found it so hard to stick at a job, to keep friends, and all manner of psycho-babble people blame their shit lives on, as I’d screamed at Helena, gripping the handles of my cases in the hall. I knew from Michael that Amanda blamed a lot of her loafing around, her trust-fund existence, her bust-ups with friends, on the death of her parents. But Michael wasn’t like that. He never even talked about it, for God’s sake. I’d had no idea how they’d even died until Helena told me – which obviously irritated the hell out of me – why couldn’t she just mind her own fucking business? Why couldn’t she just ‘STAY OUT OF MY LIFE!’ I’d screamed at full volume at her. And then I’d slammed out and clattered down the stairs.

Helena and I didn’t speak for a while after that. When we did, Michael and I were already planning our wedding, having recently discovered I was pregnant. Well I know, it wasn’t ideal. And the thing was, I’d become so brilliant at the rhythm method, which Michael had told me about. I’d stopped taking the Pill because he’d sweetly said he didn’t want all those rubbish hormones and toxins in my lovely young body, and it had been working perfectly well for months, until blow me down, I missed a period. I did a test and there it was: the famous blue line. We went home and told my parents. They were brilliant, in fact. I’d actually already rung ahead and told Mummy, and I’d quite wanted to go and speak to them on my own, but Michael insisted it looked bad if he didn’t come, particularly since we were getting married. And yes, I was thrilled we were. I mean, obviously I’d moved in, so in some unformed, hazy way, my intention must have been to marry. But it was just all so sudden.