‘But it’s virtually impossible to gauge what Henry’s thinking or feeling. Should I turn down a man who I know I can love, who I know loves me, on the off chance that a man who I barely know might be interested in giving it a go? This is marriage. Versus… nothing.’

‘I don’t think that’s how you should be looking at this.’ Mia spoke quietly now, her eyes meeting mine. ‘It’s not one or the other. You need to figure out for certain if you want to marry Adam, so you can commit to him or commit to moving on without any risk of him popping up and derailing whatever you might have in the future. And then, once you’ve decided that, you can start thinking about whether you want to see how things go with Henry. It doesn’t have to be a big decision now. Whatever your parents might think or hope for, you can keep it casual, try a few dates. There are worse people to dip your toe back into the dating world with.’

‘Are there? It’s Henry!’

Mia smiled. ‘Tell me when your first date is and I’ll corner him in the staffroom and give him firm instructions on what to wear.’

‘You seem fairly convinced on which way this is heading.’

‘Bea, I’ve known your parents for many years now. They’ve not once been this wrong about anything.’

‘Or if they are wrong, they somehow force it to happen, anyway.’

She got up, coming to give me a hug before she left. ‘You seem to do a pretty good job of holding out for what you want. It’s one of the reasons they’re so proud of you.’

Now, didn’t that bring back the evening’s earlier turmoil like a punch in my chest?

I’d have expected another night flipping about like a stranded fish under my covers, the various issues fighting each other for which one was going to stress me out the most. Instead, mercifully, I must have reached overload, because the next thing I knew my alarm was going off, and I had two hours before heading back to work.

I dithered about in the attic until I was dressed, my bags packed, and the room tidied. Finally accepting that I’d run out of excuses, I trudged downstairs to face my parents.

‘Ah, Beatrice,’ Mum announced. ‘You can join the war committee.’

Pouring myself a mug of tea, I chose to stay leaning against the counter rather than sit at the table until I’d worked out what was happening.

‘Your determination even to the point of moral treason has inspired us,’ she continued, sliding onto the bench beside Dad, who offered me a small smile. ‘Time for the orchestra to stop serenading on the deck of the Titanic and start figuring out how to build a lifeboat.’

‘Okay?’