It strikes me, as silence descends and we stand opposite each other in the kitchen, smiling tightly and nodding awkwardly, how, even though we’re about the same age, I feel twenty years older than Angharad. She’s bright and sharp and inquisitive whereas I feel old and tired and jaded. Five years ago – that was the last time I went clubbing. I went to Love Lies with Daisy, and I met some guy. She kicked him out of the taxi on the way back to mine. What was he called? I look up as Angharad says my name.

“Sorry, I was miles away. What was that?”

“I was just talking about the clubs I used to go to at uni. Did you go? I know you said you went to college in Exeter, but I think you said something about uni. Newcastle, was it?”

My memory of the past might be hazy but I know for a fact I haven’t told Angharad where I went to university, or even that I went at all. I’ve been careful not to give away too much about my past since I moved here. Will’s the only one who knows anything about my life as Emma. There’s a part of me that’s incredibly relieved that I don’t have to filter what I say to him any more, but I also feel vulnerable, as though I peeled off my protective layers and laid myself bare in front of him last night. As far as anyone else is concerned, though, I’m Jane Hughes, I left school at sixteen then did a variety of shop and admin jobs before deciding to get a qualification in animal care and management when I was twenty-five. I’ve told Sheila the names of my brothers and sister, but that’s it.

“No.” I shake my head. “I think you must have me confused with someone else. I’ve never even been to Newcastle.”

“Oh, right.” A half-smile plays on her lips as she raises her eyebrows. “Sorry, my mistake.”

My gaze drifts from the kitchen table to the cake on the Welsh dresser. My table is huge, a good eight-seater, and yet she chose to squeeze the sponge into the tiny space between the letter rack and the filing tray where I hid the note.

“Shall I cut you a piece?” Angharad follows my gaze and leaps into action, snatching up the knife. “I’m sure Sheila wouldn’t mind if I’m a little bit late. She did say to give you her love.”

“No.” I press a hand to the side of my head. “No, thank you. Sorry, Angharad. I don’t want to be rude, not after you’ve gone to so much trouble, but I’ve got a terrible headache. I think I might just go back to bed.”

“Oh.” Her smile fades. “Oh, okay, then.”