‘Well, you didn’t exactly ace the fitness test, but you knew that already,’ Ursula Lek says now. ‘On the bright side, your blood pressure looks decent, and I can’t see anything wrong with your heart. What about alcohol and cigarettes? It says here you’re a smoker.’ Lek’s eyes turn to the medical records on her screen.

‘I’ve practically quit. Just have a few on festive occasions.’

‘And alcohol? The results of the CDT test will take a few days. But that’ll tell us the whole story,’ she adds, as if to remind Karen there’s no point lying.

‘A lot less now than six months ago,’ Karen says truthfully. ‘I’m not as—’

She breaks off.

She’d almost said I’m not as lonely anymore. But then the memory of the fight in the kitchen the other day, the look of disappointment on Leo’s face. Of incredulity. And Sigrid staring out the window.

Something is about to change. Is coming to an end.

What the fuck did you think was going to happen?

‘How are you doing, really?’

Karen’s nostrils sting and she bites the inside of her cheek hard to keep from crying. Her physical shortcomings are bad enough, she doesn’t want to be referred to a therapist, too.

‘So-so. Just tired, I guess.’

‘I know you’ve been through a lot over the past year,’ the doctor says. ‘Or six months,’ she corrects herself after another glance at the screen. ‘These things affect us both physically and mentally. Have you been able to work out at all since you injured your knee?’

‘Strength training, but not a lot of running. I just don’t have the stamina. It feels like I never recovered from the flu last winter, even though that was months ago. I had a bout of pneumonia, too, so maybe that’s why I haven’t . . .’

She trails off again when she realises it sounds like excuses.

‘Well, you’re getting to the age where we women start going through changes, and that makes it even more important to keep up with your exercise. How is your period, by the way? Still regular?’

Karen tries to count in her head, but suddenly, her mind is racing. The hot flash she experienced the other day. And last night when she’d got out of bed and pulled off her T-shirt, which was soaked through with sweat.

‘So-so, but then it was never really like clockwork.’

‘Well, that’s something to keep in mind.’

‘But I’m not that old.’

Another glance at the screen.

‘Forty-nine. Some women hit menopause as early as their forties, or even earlier, though that’s unusual. Knowing when it happened to your mother and grandmother can give you an indication of the likely timeframe.’

Her nostrils sting again.