‘So, this weekend.’ Jim put a wine bucket on the table, an uncorked bottle nestled in the ice. ‘We’ll drive to Haversham Manor first, then it’s a quick scoot up the M40 to Beckton Abbey. I wondered if we could go via Bellhampton too. I know we don’t have an appointment, but it’s on the way so we could have a quick peek in the grounds, just to see. I know you thought it would be too grand, but I wouldn’t mind a look. You only get married once, after all.’

Sylvia nodded. Should she tell him now? Just blurt it out?

‘And then we’re booked in for a cuppa at Mum and Dad’s after all that, around 5ish, okay?’

She could just say the words. But then it would be out there and she’d have no control over it anymore. Right now, nothing had to change. She and Jim were getting married next year. They’d have several years before they even tried to have a family and she’d continue to build up her career until a suitable point when she felt comfortable taking time out. Then perhaps she’d go freelance while the children were young, but she’d have enough contacts by then, and a good enough reputation, that she could do that without fear of losing what she’d built. That was the plan. That’s what was meant to happen.

‘Did you hear what I said?’

‘Yes, sorry.’ She felt like screaming. Everything was so easy for him, while she’d always felt like a general preparing a battle plan.

‘You are looking forward to it, aren’t you?’

She smiled at him. That open, happy, carefree face. She wanted to reach out and smooth his hair, watch his eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiled back. Would it have Jim’s blond hair, his height? Or perhaps her darker skin that tanned easily in the sun, her brown eyes? She flicked the thought away. ‘I am,’ she said. ‘Very much.’

JUNE 2016 Montreux, Switzerland

JESS

Julia isn’t around on Saturday when Michel asks if I want to join him and the kids on a hike. I was planning to spend some time trying to track down Daniel Buchs; however, it seems silly to pass up the opportunity to explore the area with a local. But it’s more than that, I have to admit. As I take my place in the passenger seat of his car, the kids in the back, I feel a little thrill to be stepping into Julia’s shoes.

An hour into our walk, and halfway up what feels like a colossus of a mountain, I remember that the last time I walked up any significant hill was on a school trip to Snowdonia when I was twelve. And I wasn’t very good at it then.