“No! Because nothing’s driving you.” She peers at me in distress. “You’ve always had this…this energy. This engine. Where’s it gone? What are you enthusiastic about right now?”

I don’t say anything, but inside, something’s quailing. Last time I was enthusiastic about something, it nearly cost me all my relationships.

“Dunno.” I shrug, avoiding her eye.

“Think. What do you want? Bex, we’re being honest with each other.”

“Well,” I say, after a gigantic pause. “I suppose…”

“What? Bex, talk to me.”

“Well,” I say again, and give an awkward shrug. “I suppose most of all I’d like another baby one day. But it hasn’t happened. So. I mean, maybe it’ll never happen. But whatever.” I clear my throat. “You know. It’s no big deal.”

I raise my eyes to see Suze gazing at me, stricken.

“Bex, I didn’t realize. You’ve never said anything.”

“Well, I don’t go on about it.” I roll my eyes and take a few steps away. I don’t want any sympathy. In fact, I should never have mentioned it.

“Bex—”

“No.” I shake my head. “Stop it. Honestly. It’s all good.”

We walk on a little, neither speaking, into an adjoining tent, which is full of leather accessories laid out on tables.

“So…what are you guys going to do after this?” says Suze at last, as though she’s thinking this all through for the first time. “Is Luke going back to the UK?”

“Yes.” I nod. “When we’ve finished this trip, we’ll pack up and go back. I suppose I’ll try to get a job in England. Although I don’t know if I’ll find one. It’s pretty tough out there, you know.” I pick up a plaited leather belt, look at it blankly, and put it down again.

“I wish you’d made it as a Hollywood stylist,” says Suze wistfully, and I feel so shocked I actually lurch against the table.

“No, you don’t! You gave me a hard time about it!”

“I did at the time.” Suze chews her lip. “But I’d love to have seen your name on a cinema screen. I’d have been so proud.”

“Well. All that’s over.” I look away, my face set. It’s still quite painful to think about. “And I don’t have a job to go back to.”

“You can pick up your career in England. Easy!”

“Maybe.”

I walk over to another stall, away from her penetrating eyes. I don’t want Suze getting under my protective shell. I feel too sore inside. And I think she senses this, because when she comes over, all she says is, “D’you want one of these?”

She holds up the most hideous leather necklace, decorated with wine corks.

“No,” I say firmly.

“Thank God. Because that would worry me.”

Her eyes are dancing comically, and I can’t help giving a little smile. I’ve missed Suze. The old Suze. I miss the old us.

I mean, it’s wonderful being a grown-up wife and mother and all of it. It’s fulfilling. It’s joyful. But sometimes I’d love to be drunk on a Saturday night, watching Dirty Dancing and deciding to dye our hair blue.