She made an indeterminate sound and gazed around desperately. She was going to behave badly; she knew she was.

‘Like, you have three wonderful daughters.’

‘Yes. Well, there are three of them anyway.’

Now what? She sat on the sofa and started pushing nuts into her mouth, chewing vigorously. She could feel her jaw bones crack.

‘Karen says you teach children with dyslexia.’

‘Yes,’ she said. It sounded very abrupt so she added, idiotically, ‘indeed,’ then gave a hysterical snort.

‘Interesting.’

‘Yes. What do you do?’

‘I work with Gordon; that’s how I know him. Computer programs.’

‘Of course, you said. Stupid of me.’ She slapped her head with her hand then put some more nuts into her mouth. ‘Um, do you live near here?’ she went on in a thick voice.

‘No. South London.’

‘Ah.’ She paused and then said it again, louder: ‘Aha!’

‘With my two boys, some of the time at least.’

‘Oh?’ she said drearily. Here it came.

‘Yes. But mostly alone. Their mother left last year, you see.’

‘Oh dear,’ she said. ‘I’m so sorry.’ Those were the right words, weren’t they? That was the kind of thing you should say.

‘It’s all right,’ he said. ‘It had been a long time coming. It was my fault really. I was stupid.’

‘Stupid,’ she repeated. She knew exactly what ‘stupid’ meant. She could hear Lisa banging a pan in the kitchen; Gordon saying something, then laughing.

‘If only I could turn back the clock,’ he went on.

‘Yes.’

‘Gordon says you were left too?’

‘Yup,’ she said curtly. ‘That’s me.’

‘It must have been painful, with your daughters and everything.’

‘You could say that.’ More nuts, a gulp of wine to wash them down. She glared at him through her watery, maddened eyes.

‘It’s lonely, isn’t it?’

‘Can be.’

‘Things do get better though?’ He was gazing sympathetically at her, and she understood they were meant to be two victims of a disaster sharing stories.

‘It’s private,’ she said, standing up, noticing suddenly that her shirt was on inside out; there was a faded label on its side and the buttons scratched her wrists. Oh well, who cared? ‘Not something I go around sharing with whoever I sit next to.’

‘I’m sorry. I never meant to pry,’ he said very stiffly.

‘No. You probably didn’t.’

She left early, pleading a sudden migraine.

I’m in the middle, she said to herself in the middle of one wakeful night, sitting on the stairs with her chin cupped in her hands. I’m reaching the middle of my life and I’m looking forwards and looking backwards. When you’re very young you hope, and when you’re very old you remember. But when you’re in between, you have to do both. Hope and memory, faith and loss, beginning and ending all at the same time. It’s a wonder we don’t all go raving mad.