“Clearly, I’m mistaken, sorry, ignore me.” Time to change the subject. “Who would like to go first and share their initial thoughts?” I say, choosing the kind of words Nina would use.

I feel like an overworked, underappreciated manager trying to bring staff to order. I don’t want to give that impression, but what is the point in having a book club if you don’t discuss it? Yes, it’s incredibly sad that Nina’s gone, but I’m here and I’m doing my best, just as I promised.

It’s obvious who has read the novel and who is winging it. I make mental notes because they’ve had six months. Maybe I’ll subtly suggest to repeat offenders that this may not be quite the group they’re looking for. I promised to take care of things for Nina. It’s a big responsibility. Ruining anything she set up would be a sad failure.

Deflated that the evening has not been the success I’d hoped for, I nearly cave when Tamsin offers me a glass of red as we both tidy up after the others leave.

“No, thanks,” I say, drawing steeply on diminishing willpower.

“Ah,” she says with a wink. “Any news to share?”

The problem with lies is that it’s easier to stick to a thread. I nod. The moment I do, a memory flashes: Nina had confided that she found Tamsin overly inquisitive.

“Oh, huge congratulations!” she says, throwing her arms around me.

I stiffen. Heat flames my cheeks for the second time this evening as regret at my big mouth hits.

“It’s a secret,” I say.

“What’s a secret?” asks Stuart, standing at the study door.

My mind grasps for words but they’re elusive.

“Marie’s got some news—” says Tamsin.

I interrupt. “It’s very early days and—”

“Well, very early congratulations then,” he says with a smile.

He looks genuinely pleased, yet the thought of new life can’t do anything but highlight his own loss.

“I don’t know what came over me. Ben will be so cross if he finds out I’ve blabbed.”

An understatement.

If he discovers my lie, he’ll throw our past back in my face and I dread to think where that will leave us. Just a few more days and all this will right itself by becoming true. I’ll stay calm and ride this out. It’s not as if it’s the first time I’ve been forced to do this.

Four

Humiliation intertwines with grief, rage, disappointment, despair. I can no longer pretend. It has been another week of negative results. When it feels physically impossible to cry anymore, I chuck the white plastic stick into the bin with the others, tie up the bag and transfer it to the outside garbage.

Ben will go mad if he finds them.

Or, maybe he won’t.

It’s only seven in the morning, but fuck it, I pour a Baileys into a coffee and stir. I check the kitchen clock. Ben’s due home from work in less than an hour. I need to think.