He and I had talked all the time. We worked hard, too, but between us was the ease of age-old friends. It had been like that since I first met him. It was as though I’d been existing in some sort of half-life, living the smallest possible version of myself. When I met him I could feel myself growing, blossoming. I could say anything to him and he’d understand. Not that we sat debating serious topics all the time, of course. We talked about anything and everything. Our favorite wine. The first person we kissed. The books we couldn’t be without. The songs of our youth. Our conversations would be piecemeal throughout the day, then at the end of the day we’d almost always have time for a proper talk. And the more we talked the harder we worked; Sheridan’s had done really well in the last year and Harry had told me again and again it was because he was invigorated by me. Revitalized.

And now Emma was having his child. I couldn’t let myself think about how that had come about. I thought of his face as he found out. I could only guess at his expression. Had he given me a second thought? Had he just forgotten about me in the joy of discovering they would have a child together? In the pit of my belly was a growing fury that he thought so little of me that he couldn’t even be bothered to tell me it was over.

•   •   •

On Saturday afternoon it was windy and raining outdoors, and I stayed in my flat, looking out of the living room window at the river beyond. And I thought of Harry on his sofa right now, his hand stroking Emma’s belly, making plans together, thinking of names and their baby’s future. They might go out later and look at paint for the nursery, at cots and cute little outfits. Any day now, they’d go out for the afternoon and come back laden with bags and wallpaper and furniture, all for the new life they were sharing.

I had no plans like that, or not for a long time. When I’d married Tom, I was still young and children weren’t something I’d really thought about. Having Josh around seemed to fulfill whatever maternal desire I had, though really he and I were more like friends. I had learned early on not to take on a maternal role. Josh was Tom’s child, not mine. After a while I was worried about being tied to Tom for life; I’d seen the bitterness between him and Belinda, and I’d slowly realized that at least half of the time their animosity was down to him. I knew that if he and I split up, it would be unbearable if we shared a child.