‘We’ll be fine,’ Nell said, picking up her share of the carrier bags. It wasn’t rational, this sudden urge to know, but she couldn’t help herself. ‘Will you do me a favour?’ she asked Maude as they walked towards the exit.

‘Depends.’

‘Just hang on here, with our stuff, will you? I forgot— I’ll be back in a minute.’

‘Really?’ Maude rolled her eyes.

‘Really. I won’t be long.’ Nell ducked back into the shop.

She was fairly sure Maude couldn’t see which section she was in, not from her place by the door, and before she could think too much about it she grabbed a testing kit, one she could use early; it was generic, cheap, but it would do, and as an afterthought, she picked up a packet of tampons.

‘Sorry,’ she said, making a show of putting her tampons in her bag as she walked swiftly back towards Maude.

Maude didn’t bother to answer.

*

It was almost high water, Nell realised as the bell rang and the long gate was fixed into place, blocking the road and bringing all traffic on both sides of the bridge to a halt. A man, tall, balding and wearing a blue boiler suit, walked to the centre of the bridge to operate the opening mechanism. They were going to have to wait. Maude sighed and dumped her shopping bags at Nell’s feet.

‘It must be cantilevered. If we wait and watch you’ll see it lift to let the boats through.’ The woman behind them was explaining to her friend, and Nell moved away, ignoring the temptation to correct her.

The bridge opened using a swing mechanism which moved the two sections horizontally, and today only one half swung open to allow a handful of yachts – blurred silhouettes in the mist – to sail up the harbour to their moorings. It didn’t take too long, just long enough.

‘Hello?’ The voice was tentative, but not so uncertain that Nell could get away with ignoring it. She turned around. It was the blonde woman from yesterday.

‘Yes?’

‘Hi. I think I saw you arriving at Elder House?’ She was Nell’s age, more or less, but her manner was younger, the way she inflected her statement to make it into a question, the tilt of her head. ‘In Bishops Yard? I think I spoke to your husband?’

‘Yes.’

‘Oh good. I thought it was you. I saw you in the supermarket, lurking by the shampoos.’ She was carrying a basket, loaded with shopping, which she shifted from one arm to the other before sticking out her hand. ‘Carolyn,’ she said, ‘Carolyn Wilson?’

‘Hello.’ Nell took the hand. Surely there was nothing more for the woman to complain about?