Nick wiped a dish with a tea towel. He’d started taking ages to reply to my statements about where I might go (I wasn’t asking for permission. And yet I was). ‘London. Again?’

‘Just getting organised. We’ll need things for the baby! Lots of things.’

‘But I’d like to go with you for that. Choose them together.’ I’d thought he might say that.

‘I know, but I just want to get a head start. Don’t deny me the chance to coo! And you know me, I take years to choose anything.’ Silly Suzi. What an airhead. ‘Remember all those weekends in Spitalfields Market?’

He smiled, recalling the people we used to be, our golden London Sundays buying old-age junk for our tiny flat, paying fifteen pounds for avocado toast and coffee. ‘Yeah. Well, alright. Just don’t get tired out.’

As I picked up the plate he’d dried, I almost wanted to punch the air in triumph. I’d trapped him this time. In the morning he left me an even bigger pile of cash. I got dressed with more care than usual – not hard. I brushed my hair, selected a new maternity jumper and jeans. I even did my eye make-up. I wasn’t sure why, but my heart was racing in my chest. I had to remind myself you wouldn’t be there, not ever. You were gone.

The crowds in Guildford were terrible, Christmas shoppers already out in force, tramping the remnants of snow into grey slush. The night before, as part of our reconciliation, Nick had brought up the holidays for the first time, and, as I’d predicted, suggested inviting his mother (mine was going on a cruise, thankfully). I thought about another week with Joan creeping about at 5 a.m. to listen to Radio 4, rewashing all my dishes, constantly wiping the counters; having to find National Trust properties to take her to, not being able to watch any TV I wanted because she’d tut at any violence or sex or swearing. I’d have to think about Nick’s present, when there wasn’t a single thing I could imagine him wanting. It was exhausting. I thought about getting a cab or an Uber to your house, but I felt an obscure paranoia that Nick might check, that he could look it up online and see I’d been somewhere I had no good reason to go. It wasn’t so far-fetched. In town, I bought a few things without thinking – some babygros, a scarf for Nick – in case I was too upset afterwards to do any shopping. I’d have to hide the receipts with the shop addresses on. The woman in the baby shop smiled at my bump. ‘When are you due?’