Having checked that all was in order, I went back downstairs to the kitchen, opened the fridge and poured myself a glass of Chablis. I picked up the large pile of post that had been left on the island in the kitchen, took it up to the sitting room and sank into one of the sofas there. I could see that they were mainly Christmas cards, a few bills and one official-looking letter. I felt a knot of anxiety in my stomach. I had an idea of what it might say. I’d look at it later, not today. Why ruin a good holiday on the first night I was back?

It felt strange to be on my own after having had constant company and, despite my attempt to warm it up, the house felt empty of colour and life. Now don’t get maudlin, I told myself, and said my mantra. I’m OK. I have a good life. I’d worked hard to create it and, although the house was small, it was a space that was a pleasure to come back to. The rooms had been painted in the neutral shades of Farrow and Ball: Cornforth White, Skimming Stone, Elephant’s Breath. Pale linen and silk curtains hung at tall windows on the upper floors. Large, overstuffed, dove-grey sofas were in the sitting room, with cushions a few shades darker. Tasteful artefacts from my travels to India, Morocco and Turkey were placed on shelves and surfaces, not too many to look cluttered; big art and travel books were stacked on the coffee table. The atmosphere was elegant and serene. That was what people said. That was what I worked so hard to present to the world. Hah. What a joke. If only they knew. It was all so perfect but sometimes it felt sanitized, a show house, and I longed for the clutter and chaos of Pete and Marcia’s home, always full of people and mess, their children and friends. I felt a sudden urge to have the whole house repainted in lime green and turquoise with a gold loo and red ceiling, then go and … and buy a dog, two dogs; but knew I wouldn’t. I’d drink too much wine, sleep fitfully, then get up tomorrow and carry on, because that’s what I did best, I carried on. Saranya Ji’s words replayed in my mind: ‘You believe that people you love leave you, and you are destined to be alone.’ Bah. I’d got used to being on my own; it had made me what I am, independent and strong, well … most of the time. I had good friends. What more did I need? As I sat, sipping my wine, I thought back to a time when even Marcia had disappeared.

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