He looked at me as if seeking my reassurance, and I nodded, relieved. He’d stay! I’d have to tell Grace she couldn’t come after all, and everything would be fine. ‘They’re short on volunteers as it is,’ Rohan said, and I nodded again: this was all true, though I only volunteered once a week.

‘So you’re not going?’ Mili asked. ‘Well, hello, career suicide.’

Rohan traced a pattern on the paper mat with his fingertip. ‘However, they really, really need me there by the start of September and they’ve agreed it can be only for six weeks, so…’ He pursed his lips. ‘I’ll come back for a couple of weekends whenever I can… kind of like commuting…’

His words hit me like a punch in the gut. Six weeks? Had I heard him right? I stared at my wine glass, not daring even to move.

‘What?’ snorted Mili, jolting the table as she banged her hands down on it in a way that made me jump, heart skittering. ‘You’re commuting to New York? Oh my God, you’re my hero! You absolute legend!’

But Meena was shaking her head, her face serious. ‘Oh no, beta, no. You can’t leave Abigail. There must be some other way.’

‘I have to go, Mum,’ Rohan said quietly and Mili nodded, one eyebrow raised. Meena inhaled deeply then tilted her head and looked at me.

‘What’s wrong with New York, Abigail? You should go. It will be good for you.’

I opened my mouth but Rohan took the words before I could say them. ‘She’s needed at the hospice. And she’s painting. It’s too disruptive. I can fly back after four weeks for a long weekend.’

Meena looked from him to me and back again, her antennae for marital troubles quivering. She frowned at me.

‘Go with him, Abigail. I know you do good work at the hospice, but he’s your husband! And it’ll be good for you to have a break, relax… How do you expect to start a family when you’re always so… busy?’

‘He chose to go, not me,’ I muttered.

‘What, Abigail? What did you say?’

‘His choice.’ I gave a tight smile and looked out toward the street, and then Meena leaned further towards Rohan and me, and said: