She could almost see her mother smiling at her – not that she had smiled much while she was around. You learned at last. Elle liked to think she would look at her daughter now – her spotless house in the nicer part of Guildford, her handsome doctor husband, her French cookery and elegant clothes – and she would at last approve.

Suzi

Suzi

I’d wondered if I should bring her something, but I wasn’t the kind of woman who had cakes lying around in Tupperware or punnets of home-grown strawberries. I’d just go and say hello. I put on my too-clean Hunters and jeans under the jumper – I didn’t feel ready to take it off, not yet – and made sure to tidy up, in case Nick came home early again. I set the dishwasher running, a silent whoosh behind brushed chrome. I adjusted the underfloor heating as it was far too hot, although when I checked the thermostat was set at eighteen, and outside the November weather had turned, all the warmth leached from it. This house seemed to keep everything in.

Nick had left his breakfast dishes on the table, of course, a new habit since we’d moved here. I had broached once or twice the fact I was now doing all the cooking, cleaning, washing and housework. He’d looked at me in astonishment, grinding pepper all over the stew I’d laboured on. ‘But I’ve been working all day.’

I’d felt the helpless rage rise up in me – he’d always worked all day, and yet in London we’d shared everything, stopping by the shops, running a sponge over the shower. ‘I’m working too.’

‘Hardly.’

I didn’t answer. I was supposed to be studying for my art therapist certificate, as well as painting, but we both knew I had done neither for weeks.

I was almost excited, I realised, as my feet made deep prints in the autumn mud. It was the first time in days I’d seen anyone but Nick. The dog was frantic at the door. Walkies! People! I wished I felt such enthusiasm for life. I couldn’t find his lead – I never put it back in the right place – so I tied him with a scarf. There were three movers altogether. They must have been family because the younger men had the same burly width and curly hair as the older one.

‘Hello!’ I was dragged across the lane, the dog almost strangling himself with joy at seeing someone other than me. The older man regarded me, chewing gum. ‘I’m the neighbour – is someone moving in? Exciting!’ I was already trying to flatten my vowels, be more working class, not Mrs Hunter Wellies and Joules Gilet.

He was hefting a chest of drawers, his muscles rippling under tattoos. ‘In there,’ he said laconically. ‘You wanna get that dog a lead.’