‘De nada,’ she calls back, feeling like a silly, showy-offy schoolgirl. She hardly speaks any Spanish. What must he think of her, with her clinking bin bag of bottles? Thank God she put her make-up on and he hadn’t seen her in the state she was in earlier.

On the seafront, it takes a while for Maddy to get the hang of Luna’s extendable lead. Jamie always wanted a dog, but they never got around to getting him one. Trent was always too busy with his business, and she didn’t have the time. Now, she wonders what her life might have been like if she’d given in to Jamie’s simple wish. If he had a dog to love, might he have stayed? Why hadn’t she realised that she only had a finite time to parent him when he was under her roof? She could have done more. Given him more of the things he really wanted rather than the things she thought he needed. And now it’s too late.

She walks past The Fortune of War pub, the fishmonger’s hut and smoking shack, past the boarded-up arcade towards the Palace Pier. Above it, thousands of starlings are swooping and soaring in unison, a huge in sync ariel display, a twisting, turning cloud.

Her phone bleeps. It’s Trent. He’s left her several messages. A couple with a pleading tone; one that was angry. She knows he’s confused by her behaviour and hurt too, but she doesn’t want to talk to him. She doesn’t want to hear his pathetic justification for his affair. Because she knows he’ll try and blame her. He’ll try and spin his way out of being in the wrong. He always does. She knows the best way to punish him is to not give him the chance to talk her round. But at some point very soon, she’s going to have to confront him and work out the thorny issue of their finances and she knows she won’t be able to continue being angry – not when she’s beholden to him.

She feels so weak and pathetic for not being more independent. She wishes now that she’d stuck at a career. She could have been the managing director of a company. She could have had her own money to pay Manpreet. She’s going to have to cash in the last of her savings to sort it out, but then there will be no cushion at all and she only has herself to blame. Her big plans for her @made_home channels suddenly seem like precarious pipe dreams.

Then, she sees it – the starlings have made a massive phallus shape against the grey sky. An actual cock and balls. Talk about pathetic fallacy. She bursts out laughing. It’s the first time she’s laughed in days. She turns, wondering if there’s anyone to share the moment with, but she’s alone.

She gets out her phone and takes a picture of the murmuration, but the cock and balls have gone. It’s just a huge circle, like a speech bubble. Putting a flattering filter over the image, she thinks of all the hashtags that she wants to type #fuckthatyear #fuckmyhusband, but instead she dashes off a paragraph about how she’s enjoying nature and the winter sunshine by the beach. Hashtag bollocks, she thinks.