There isn’t much point in saying anything. I just lie still, allowing his words to thump down onto me, like I’m a pavement in the rain. I’m a cheating ex-whore, married to a man who finds me repulsive. Craving sex from strangers and demanding sodomy in nice houses. All the while selling the concept of love and matrimony to a woman who, if rumour has it right, is being cheated on. I am the worst.

‘Yes, I’ve been drinking,’ I tell him, rolling my head to the side. He can pour his judgement all over me. I don’t care anymore.

‘It seems like such a waste, but I’ll throw this down the sink,’ says Michael, holding the bottles of breast milk, looking very cross. ‘Drink your water, eat your biscuit and get some sleep.’

He leaves. When the door closes, I throw the glass of water at it and scream.

10

Ruby

I stop by the park on my way to my wax appointment. Ross is sitting solemnly on the bench. It isn’t clean. He has his top off and is sweating. He looks sadder than usual.

‘Are you alright?’ I ask him as I sit down.

‘I forgot the wipes. I’m so stupid,’ he says, looking at the bench with disgust, like the pigeons made their mess to spite him. I check my bag, but I don’t have any either.

‘Bloody pigeons, they have no respect,’ I say, smiling at him. He manages a little one back. ‘You look like you have more on your mind than usual?’

‘Yeah, I have a big weekend coming up. Family stuff, I always get anxious. But I’ll be alright. Where’s Bonnie today?’

‘Oh, she’s at nursery this morning. I was actually hoping that I would see you. I wanted to thank you.’

‘Thank me? What on earth for?’

‘For saying all the right things.’

He laughs to himself. ‘Well that would be a first.’

‘I needed to meet someone like you. You’ve given me a perspective that I think I needed.’

‘All problems are relative. You can’t compare everything to the death of a child.’

‘True, but it certainly made me assess what is important. Like I said, I needed it, so thank you.’

‘You’re welcome. I guess it’s good that something positive can come from all this,’ he says, dropping his head again. He is so heavy today. Of course he has days like this. I’m not sure I would ever get out of bed. ‘My wife doesn’t know about this bench,’ he tells me, as if that bothers him.

‘Really, why?’ I ask, quite shocked by that. The bench should be for everyone who misses Verity, surely?

‘She brushed her death under the carpet. She didn’t want to talk about it. All I wanted to do was talk about it, I couldn’t stop. I’ve seen a therapist twice a week since it happened, just so I can go on and on. I don’t understand how she couldn’t. She didn’t want a bench. She thought it would be a place to wallow, rather than a place to feel connected to Verity. This bench feels like my lifeline some days.’