So, no, I’m not that okay.

‘I’m great! You’re looking very glam for a party in the back garden! You look amazing.’ She does. In fact, there’s an edge to her I haven’t seen for a long time. I remember when I was little, watching her put the finishing touches to her make-up before she went out for the evening. She glowed. She was like a princess.

I’d never noticed how much her light had been dimmed over the last few years; it must be exhausting trying to hang on to a husband who is so good at being elusive.

‘Thank you, darling.’ She touches my arm lightly. ‘That’s a lovely thing to say. Now come on you two, let’s go and get you a drink.’

Noah’s fingertips rest on the small of my back as we walk through the house, and it’s impossible to ignore. I want him to walk his fingers up my spine, to kiss the nape of my neck to …

Stop!

I stop abruptly and turn around so that I can hiss in his ear.

‘You can stop the flattery while we’re here.’ I can’t help myself, my self-protection mode has kicked in, to override my ‘I want to jump on you’ mode.

‘What do you mean?’ he whispers back, his closeness sending goose bumps down my arms. Maybe getting this close wasn’t the brightest idea I’ve ever had.

‘That comment about me taking after Mum! She knows we’re just friends.’ Oh shit, why am I doing this? Why can’t I just go with the flow rather than trying to create an argument that I know I’ll regret? Hitting out at him will change nothing. Except I suppose then he might realise I need lots more lessons, so hang about a bit longer.

‘It wasn’t flattery, you do.’ He moves from my ear, his warm breath fanning my cheek, until he’s facing me. Nose to nose. Looking straight into my eyes. Gulp. ‘You’re beautiful, fun and clever.’ He pauses. ‘But still a bit scary.’ Then he grins.

‘Here you are, darling, a nice champagne cocktail, and you can have a Tom Collins, is that okay?’ Noah nods, and takes the drink, looking slightly bemused. Knowing me hasn’t prepared him at all for meeting my mother. ‘Oh, your dad isn’t coming by the way,’ I am aware the smile has gone from my face and I’m gripping her hand as well as the stem of the glass, ‘but I bumped into Bea in town earlier and asked her to come along, isn’t that nice? I do hope she does, the more the merrier, we’ve got lots of food!’

She says it all matter of fact-ly. The Bea bit in the same tone as the Dad bit.

‘Dad isn’t coming?’ I glance at Noah, his lips are pressed into a thin, hard line.

‘No darling, he sent me a message. Oh Rosalie, I hope you’re not too upset.’

‘I’m upset for you, Mum, not me!’ I’m fuming. I have come to the realisation that ‘pearl’ anniversary may be strangely appropriate as Dad is the irritant, the dirt that crept into her life and she’s wasted the best years of her life doing her best to cover the irritant up, protect herself, make something beautiful.