A man in the audience had his hand up and she gave him a quick, pleasant smile. ‘I’ll take any questions at the end, by the way,’ she said as an aside, before continuing down her well-worn path. ‘So I decided I would make a change. To hell with what other people thought. I was going to get fit – but not because the doctor said I should. Not because of those kids shouting “Fatty!” at me in the street. Not because I felt bullied into it by all the many, many unkind remarks I’d heard made about me, either to my face or behind my back. No.’ She let her pause hang in the air for effect. Work it, girl, said Margaret in her head. ‘I was going to get fit and lose weight because I wanted to. Because I wanted to change.’

More nods from the audience. Some people already had that glassy-eyed look of reverence as they listened, although the man with his hand up was still trying to get her attention, she noticed with a flicker of irritation. ‘Excuse me,’ he called, waggling his fingers.

Bunny ignored him. ‘It’s not easy, though, is it? Making that decision and then sticking to your guns,’ she went on. ‘All of you, I can see, have taken up a similar challenge. Just by coming here, you’ve made a commitment, you’re on your own journeys. So you’ll understand when I say that for the first few weeks I found myself wondering if—’

‘Excuse me,’ the man said again, louder this time. He was actually waving his hand from side to side now.

Bunny broke off, losing her thread, glancing round to try and catch the eye of the group leader, Sally, who’d introduced her. Wouldn’t somebody help her out and shut this man up? But nobody was coming to her rescue, so she smiled at him tightly. ‘If you don’t mind, I’d like to save questions for the—’ she began, but he was already talking over her.

‘Is it true you stabbed your husband?’ he called out.

A ripple of astonishment spread through the audience like a Mexican wave, while Bunny stood there, stunned. ‘I . . .’ she stuttered, the ground seeming to rise and tilt beneath her feet. ‘What? I . . .’

‘I never forget a face. It was you, wasn’t it? Married to that Mark Roberts fella? My uncle lived next door to the pair of youse. Bakerfield Road, right?’

Bunny was going hot and cold all over. She swallowed hard, her mouth dry, her mind in freefall. ‘No,’ she did her best to say. ‘You’re mistaken.’ She could feel the audience eyeing her differently all of a sudden; there was a chilliness in the air, a terrible stillness, as every single person began recalibrating their impression of her.

Maybe she’s not one of us, after all.

Did she really do that?