‘We should order.’ I slid the menu, a sheet of heavy crinkled paper, across to her. I’d looked it up online and chosen my food already.

Minutes ticked by as she cast her eyes over it and back to her phone, menu then phone. I signalled for the waitress but her eyes slid off me. Claudia looked at her watch. ‘I don’t have long.’ I remembered us at university, the hours we used to waste in cafés, jawing over the boys in our lives, making a pot of tea last for hours. How had we ended up like this? My closest friend – the work ones had all ditched me after Damian – and she didn’t have an hour spare for me.

I was torn between getting the waitress and needing to start talking in the limited time I had. Eventually, I pushed a loud ‘excuse me, can we order’ in her direction, catching curious glances. She took our orders without writing them down, causing me an irrational spike of anxiety.

‘Thank you. Sorry.’ Claudia smiled at the waitress. I felt she was trying to make up for my rudeness, and I wanted to cry. ‘So!’ Claudia’s voice was bright when the sullen waitress left, her long dark ponytail swinging. ‘How’s the country life? Can’t believe how big you are.’

‘Oh, it’s – you know. Quiet. I feel like I’m dead and buried sometimes.’ I forced that same laugh again.

She looked at me quizzically. She was wearing wide navy trousers, seventies-style, and a cream silk blouse. Her nails were done in dark red gel – I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had my nails painted; another thing that was supposedly toxic for the baby. One was still torn and black from shutting the garden gate on it. I hid my hands under my napkin. Claudia said, ‘Everything’s OK, right?’

It wasn’t. I’d had an affair, and my lover was dead. I was pregnant, probably with his baby. I opened my mouth to say something – I didn’t know what – then caught a glimpse of her kind, worried look, a moment of focus amid her distraction, and was horrified to feel my nose start to sting.

‘Oh babe! What is it?’

‘Nothing! God, so stupid. Pregnancy hormones.’ People were looking. I dabbed my eyes on the napkin. ‘It’s just hard. Leaving everything behind.’

‘Well, I’m sure. But I thought that’s what you wanted? A fresh start?’

‘I . . .’ It was what Nick wanted. What I’d maybe sometimes said in passing might be nice, but I didn’t mean it. How terrible it was when someone took you at your word. ‘It’s not what I thought. It’s so isolated. I can’t even get to the station unless I ring a cab – no Uber, nothing like that.’

‘God,’ murmured Claudia, the thought of no Uber clearly horrifying her.