‘Hold on a minute.’ I flatten my palms on the tabletop to channel my frustration. ‘What happened there was nothing to do with my diagnosis.’

I stare accusingly at my mum, then Dom and John, who at least have the grace to look ashamed.

My mother shifts in her seat and purses her lips. ‘Alex, darling, you don’t need to hide it. We’re all here for you and we’re going to manage this together.’ She puts her hand on mine and I immediately pull it away in annoyance.

I almost can’t bear to listen to any more of this. I take a deep, slow breath to keep my temper from boiling over.

‘I’m not hiding anything. If you’d bothered to read up on it properly, you’d know that people with MS don’t experience every possible symptom listed, and it could also be years before I need proper care.’

‘Oh, I know that, darling.’ She tuts at me and returns her attention to her food. ‘We can talk about it another day, when you’re feeling a bit calmer.’

This final comment infuriates me, but I’m too aware of our surroundings to let this show. Instead, in a gesture of protest, I clatter my knife and fork into the six o’clock position on my plate and push it away, leaving my food unfinished.

This was meant to be a pleasant experience, an exciting adventure for a dizzy bride-to-be. Instead, all I feel is anger and dread. I had thought the worst part of being diagnosed with MS was going to be my physical symptoms and limitations. Now I’m starting to wonder – is that going to be outdone by the behaviours of those who supposedly love me most?

Chapter 8

A few weeks later – and for the first time in two months – I’m crammed into the pokey clementine-coloured subway carriage on my way to work. As I cling to the handrail, jerking from side to side, the windows of the train’s automatic doors within licking distance, I feel a mix of emotions. A big part of me is excited to get back to work and resume normal life; the independence that’s driven me all my life is still well intact. It will also helpfully show Dom that I don’t need him breathing down my neck and questioning almost every move I make – this being a continuing and rather significant bone of contention between us. But there’s also an unpleasant swirling in my stomach, which, alongside the vibration and shaking of the carriage, makes me feel a little nauseous.

I recognise the unpleasant swirling as nerves: the kind you get when starting a new job. This is annoying because I’m returning to a place where I’ve enjoyed working for several years, but the longer I’ve been away, the more detached from it I’ve felt. Add to that the question of how my colleagues will behave with me, knowing I’ve been away so long. I asked Laura for complete discretion, and I know she’ll honour this without question; however, there are other ways people could have heard. Glasgow may be a city of nearly six hundred thousand, but in the corporate sector it feels more like a village.