Her father gave a speech after they sat down to roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, as Susie’s youngest cried, and Jemima, on a brief hiatus from her travels, chased the kids around the small pub garden. Afterwards, her father hugged her and said he was proud of her, whatever path she chose. She balked at that, wondering if it actually meant the opposite, that she’d disappointed him for accidentally veering her life off its intended course. But she didn’t ask him; didn’t want to hear the answer. Her mother fussed over the wrinkles in Sylvia’s dress, smoothed her hair and worried about the one glass of champagne she’d had to toast her own wedding. ‘They say you shouldn’t have any, you know,’ she said, lighting a cigarette, the smoke curling up to the ceiling.

They left in Jim’s mini in a rush of goodbyes, hugs and congratulations. Sylvia drove them up the motorway, glad of the sudden silence after the noise of the pub. They checked into a country cottage near Bourton-on-the-Water for their one night of honeymoon and he insisted on carrying her over the threshold, despite her protestations. He poured himself a whisky from the minibar and she opened the doors to the little patio and walked out into night air that smelled like freshly cut grass. He joined her, put his arm around her.

‘Well, here we are, Mrs Millson.’

‘Tallis,’ she said. ‘Ms Tallis. I’m keeping my name.’

He stared at her. ‘I didn’t know that. You didn’t say.’

‘You didn’t ask.’

‘No, I suppose I didn’t. But why on earth would you do that?’

‘It’s important to me. Professionally, I mean. I don’t want my byline to change. You understand.’ She twisted the unfamiliar second ring around her finger.

He looked at her with a sad smile. She saw the effort it was taking him not to press the matter, and she loved him for it. Finally, he nodded. ‘Okay. Ms Tallis it is. As long as you’re still my missus.’

She turned to him and planted a light kiss on his mouth, looked into his soft, kind eyes.

‘I am,’ she said.

JULY 2016 Montreux, Switzerland

JESS

Despite myself, I still feel a jolt of joy to see his name in my inbox. Patrick Faulkner. But then I open the email.

I read it once, then again, and again.

I’ve found a new place to buy, Jess, and I need a deposit, so I think we should put the flat on the market. 50-50, that’s what we agreed. I guess we need to move on now, sign those divorce papers.