Still, I don’t want to come across as overly bitter. Even though I do still blame Camilla for robbing me of my future with Charlie. Her selfishness had long-reaching ramifications.

“Perhaps she wants to apologize for not making it back for Nina’s funeral?”

“Who knows? Deborah provided the contact list. It was all a bit of a blur. Still is, if I’m honest.”

I need to pry with a different approach. Stuart genuinely seems as surprised as me at Camilla’s return.

“Nina’s admin is in a bit of a mess.”

“I didn’t realize, otherwise I’d have done it myself. Sounds stressful, send anything that’s a pain my way.”

I’m not stressed, I’m seething, but there are no words, no decent ways of breaking the news to him that his perfect wife seems to have had secrets. It’s not the right time—not yet—though temptation to blurt it out is festering. I can’t give Stuart any reason to dislike me.

“No, it’s fine, it’s nothing I can’t manage. I like a challenge and the children need as much of your attention as you can give them right now.”

I invent a call I need to make as the urge to be alone for a few minutes, to try to grasp at memories, takes an overwhelming hold.

Stuart barely acknowledges my excuse; he, too, seems lost in thought. Our dinner later than planned is a struggle. We both make an effort, but are careful with our words, flitting from one light meaningless conversational topic to another, as though each of us is afraid to drop our guard.

Grateful when I can finally slide beneath my duvet, I reach for my usual savior—books, but after attempting two new, very different ones, I admit defeat. The words won’t stick as I reread the opening sentences.

Long after midnight, I take up Christian’s suggestion of journaling. I vent until gone 2:00 a.m. I hide the notebook beneath my pillow—for now—but it’s an uncomfortable feeling having evidence of my thoughts and mixed feelings about Nina in a physical form. I tear out some of the pages and rewrite them in a more cryptic fashion. I hope this isn’t homework, that Christian doesn’t expect me to take my private ramblings along to our sessions. He and I won’t last long if that’s the case.

However, the exercise turns out to be useful because something becomes clear: the downside of loyalty is that it holds you back. Now that I’m free from some of its grip, I’m no longer restrained.

Nine

“When did you find out about Nina?”

We are strolling through our garden en masse. A walk seemed like the best way to ease the tension of the forced chitchat, not just among us three adults either. Stuart, in particular, seems slightly ill at ease and I assumed that the children would just get on and play but it seems shyness and age differences play a factor, too.

I’ve lent Camilla my wellies because she pitched up in high-heeled suede boots. Actually, the wellies were Nina’s, but they’re black and indistinguishable, so it’s not as if it’s obvious. They were new, she’d hardly worn them, and she’s only one size bigger than me. I didn’t mean to wear them, it felt weird at first, but I discovered—too late—that one of mine had a hole in the bottom before the school run one day. It was pouring, I had no choice but to borrow hers which had been abandoned in the garage. By the time I’d trudged to school and back I realized that there was nothing wrong in doing so. A boot is a boot, any weirdness relating to previous ownership is all in the mind.