‘Oh, I’m not hungry. It’s too early for me to eat, I told you. Anyway, pregnant woman aren’t supposed to have game.’ He’d never stipulated we had to eat together, just that his food should be ready when he came in. I moved behind him, wiping the counter, and could see he was irritated, having to turn his head to talk to me. ‘If we had a second car, I wouldn’t need to spend on cabs.’ How easy that would have made things with us. I could have gone anywhere to meet you, though I suppose he would have checked the mileage.

Nick sighed. ‘Not this again. Don’t you care about the planet?’

‘One car won’t make a difference.’

‘Tell that to our baby,’ he said, banging down the salt cellar. ‘What if everyone had that attitude? He’ll grow up in a world flooded by climate change.’ We didn’t know the baby’s gender yet, but I’d noticed Nick use this pronoun a few times.

‘And yet you drive your car,’ I said airily. The counter was clean, but I went on wiping.

‘There’s no other way to get to work! Suzi, what’s the matter with you tonight?’

‘Oh, nothing’s the matter, darling. Just having a logical conversation. You know, if you don’t like driving, we could always think about moving back to London. Keep this place as a weekend bolthole.’ Bolthole, another term I could not remember ever saying before.

I’d pushed things far enough for one night. Nick gave me the same hurt, confused look, then went back to eating his mash in silence. The next day, I found fifty pounds in notes left on my bedside table, enough for the taxi and train but not a lot else (he was right, it was expensive to go to London). As I counted it, I thought about the other women who wake up to find cash on the nightstand. There wasn’t much difference between us.