The afternoon drags. I let the children watch TV and don’t bother asking about homework or their day at school. I order in pizza.

Stuart puts the children to bed before hanging around in the kitchen, trying to chat while I attempt to cook, and I can’t do it anymore. I can’t act normally. I put down the knife I’m using to chop some red peppers.

“Did you see in the calendar that we have a surprise guest coming round on Saturday afternoon?”

“Kind of,” he says. “I assumed it was Deborah.”

“Well, no, funnily enough, it’s Camilla! You know, Camilla Preston!”

I smile as though it’s all fine.

“Camilla? The one who moved abroad?”

“Yes, the very same! She’s back. She only turned up the other night at my book group! I was slightly caught off guard when I invited her round. I had no idea that she and Nina kept in touch.”

“You and me both.”

“Don’t you think it’s odd that she kept it a secret?”

“I guess.”

“I wonder why she’s moved back now?”

“Didn’t she say?”

“We didn’t get much of a chance to chat, so it felt polite to invite her and her daughter, Louise, back here. Although she calls her Lulu, such a typical Camilla thing to do.”

“She has a daughter?”

“Yes, and she’s already started at the same local school as Em and Felix. Camilla hasn’t moved back half-heartedly. Book group, school, a home, a job, the whole lot.”

I pick up the knife and carry on chopping.

“Strange timing,” says Stuart. “And odd, surely, that she didn’t get in touch beforehand? She just showed up? Did she know about Nina?”

“Seemed to.” I pause. “Maybe she thought that catching me unawares would make me more amenable. Did you know she had a fling with Charlie?”

Sometimes, I get tired of hiding things.

“You mean your Charlie?”

“Yes, didn’t Nina ever say?”

He shrugs. “It was ten or more years ago.” He frowns, just slightly, as though he’s digging as far back into his memory as he can. “I must’ve missed that part. I guess it got overshadowed in the aftermath.”

Thankfully, Stuart did miss the embarrassing, horribly public, drunken argument Camilla and I had about it. Flashes of unwanted memory reappear. The urge to hit her. Humiliation. The ugly words coming out of my mouth that I knew I should stop, but somehow couldn’t. Nina not backing me up. I appreciate that I’m older and wiser, but there’s something about Stuart that always makes me want to present myself in the best possible light. He’s right, though, about things becoming overshadowed in the aftermath of Charlie’s horrific accident.

“I guess I should move on, the past is the past, forgive and forget and all that,” I say.

I put down the knife. The red pepper is so finely chopped, it’s practically mush. I throw him a questioning gaze, but he doesn’t elaborate. His reply is not what I expect.

“Not necessarily. Forgiveness can be hard. And at times overrated.”