‘Oh, I’m fine, really. It’s just the adjustment from work. I was in advertising – graphic design. I always said I hated it – the meetings, the office politics, the lipstick campaigns. But I guess I did like some parts of it. Seeing people, getting dressed up.’ She gestured ironically at her clothes, old fraying jeans and the same man’s jumper on top. It was dirty. She must rarely take it off. ‘It’s just hard, making the change to full-time wife. I’m very lucky, really.’ If there was one thing I knew by now, it was the sound of a lie. I heard it in her throat, the words she was trying to convince herself were true. She hated it here. She hadn’t wanted to move at all. ‘Did you work?’ she asked, turning the subject away from herself.

I was quiet, wondering how to phrase it. ‘My husband had an important job. It seemed to make sense for me to stay at home. But then we didn’t have children, and I started to feel . . . invisible.’

‘Like a ghost,’ she said, and forced a laugh, but neither of us found it funny.

‘Yes. A ghost. That’s a good way to put it.’

‘You seem so young to be a widow. I’m sorry.’

‘Forty-two.’

‘That’s no age nowadays.’ I could see she was shocked I wasn’t older, that grief had aged me almost overnight.

I hesitated, thinking how to broach the subject. ‘Suzi – are you sure everything’s alright? I don’t mean to pry, but you just seem – I don’t know. Stressed?’

She thought about what to say for a long moment.

Tell me, I urged. Go on, confide in me.

Suzi sighed. ‘Oh, it’s just – it’s hard sometimes, being stuck out here.’ She turned to me, earnest and open. ‘I’ve lost so much. My friends, my job. I don’t know what I’m meant to do all day! Cook and clean. But that’s just drudgery, isn’t it! I mean . . . some people like it but . . .’

‘You feel put upon,’ I prompted. I so wanted her to feel she could talk to me. It was clear there were things she was keeping to herself, that were eating her up inside.

She bit her full lip. ‘A little. Is that terrible? Nick works so hard.’

‘I’ve always thought it’s easier to go out to work, in some ways. At least you see people. Not just the same four walls.’

‘Your husband,’ she faltered, and I tensed. ‘What was he like? What did he do? Do you mind me asking?’

I walked a few paces more. ‘He was a manager. Nothing exciting. But he was – well, it’s hard to describe someone you were so close to. He was full of life. Ambition. Dreams. I loved that about him.’ I had been that way myself, once, before I lost it all.