I shut the laundry door, check my phone, and realise that, sometime in the past few days, Sarah has sent me a text saying that she and Lucy are coming to visit on the day that turns out to be today. They are going to stay in town, but she would be happy if I was around when they were. I’m thinking that visiting your son’s grave with your new girlfriend, alongside your old husband, is kind of insane, although insane ideas have become dime a dozen around here, so I can’t really complain. But when I see our car, the white four-wheel drive that has become Sarah’s, coming towards the house, I do have the feeling that crazy has come to town. And yet it is the least of my problems. The idea of seeing Sarah, no matter who she is with or why, makes me feel better. I know I will be jealous and probably erratic in my response to both of them, but still I welcome Sarah’s arrival.

They get out of the car, stretching and looking around as if they are tourists on a pit stop. I walk across the garden to greet them. Sarah kisses me on the cheek, and I am thankful. She looks tense but healthy, and not as tired as I remember her. She introduces Lucy, who smiles sweetly. There is no mention of the state of the garden, and their faces give no clues of their feelings. Lucy is half pretty, but obviously unconcerned by her looks. Her hair is straight and short, but still lank. Her clothes are worn jeans, a simple shirt, and work boots. I have no intelligence on whether she is slim, chubby, or curvaceous. If this is my replacement, I have no idea how to compete.

Everything that Sarah and I have been to each other is so far in the past I am almost disconnected from it. But I still react to the presence of Sarah the way I always have. In my mind’s eye she is the embodiment of what I hope a woman I am with will look like: she is pretty but self-effacing, and moves with a sportswoman’s confidence. Her smile is enough to light even my dark days. After all we have been through, and all the things I have done to her, she still gives me a sense of her warmth. If we had never met before, I would be thinking about her tomorrow and the day after. Some people just have what you desire, regardless of practicality or convention. If such a thing as ‘the one’ exists, then she is mine. The fact that it was beyond my capabilities to hold on to her is just another great big well of pain.

But standing where we are standing, the worst of it is obvious: pain is relative. No matter if ‘the one’ exists or not, that love never compares with the love for a child. For me, anyway. I’m pretty sure it is the same for Sarah. So, no matter the pain we feel for each other, it is a drop in the bucket compared to what we feel about James.