I can’t be here. I can’t do this any more.

The books all say that time heals. But nothing can cauterize her pain.

Matt doesn’t look up when she walks into the sitting room. He’s hunched over his laptop, catching up on work emails. Once, he’d have told her how nice she looked. She doesn’t look nice any more, though, she thinks. Maybe it’s not something he even considers any longer.

‘No sign of him?’ she asks, although it’s obvious Nick hasn’t turned up.

‘No. Have you called him?’

She’s already sent him one text and now she sends another, still trying for cheery and not as if she’s blaming him.

‘Just ring him,’ says Matt. ‘I’ve already had to pay a late fee to Uber.’

She goes into the kitchen where the signal’s better and stands by the window into the garden. Nick’s mobile goes straight to voicemail.

‘Nick, I hope you’re okay? We’re ready! The reservation is… well, it’s now. Can you give me a call, let me know you’re on your way?’

She phones the restaurant and puts the reservation back by half an hour. She checks there are still Ubers in their area. Matt could always drive, if there aren’t any when Nick finally turns up. She opens one of the drawers in the kitchen and takes a mint out from the packet hidden under the box of bag clips and bottle openers.

She stands in the sitting-room doorway and watches her husband. His hair has gone silver around the edges and there’s the beginning of a bald patch on his crown. She can’t be bothered any more. It’s all so pointless. She’s about to say they should just stay in, when Matt gets out his phone. He goes over to the window.

‘Nick, mate. Where the hell are you? Get your arse over here.’

She joins him on the window seat. It’s like a microclimate: cooler than everywhere else in the house. The sun is setting and there’s a pink streak over Bristol’s skyline. The room is scattered with bits of plastic – Lego and Octonaut figures, Sylvanian Families animals and a Playmobil zoo – which don’t quite obscure the fallen glasses and dirty cereal bowls. She should tidy it up, but her bones feel weary.

‘Shall we…’

‘Yeah,’ he says.

He goes into the kitchen and she can hear him banging cupboards, turning on the oven. He filled the freezer with readymeals and packets of frozen vegetables when she lost the will to cook. He comes back with two glasses, a bottle of wine and a pack of tortilla chips.