Over half of the forty people they’d invited were his work colleagues, only a few of whom she had met before. The turnover of staff in the financial consultancy company where he worked was high; at every party there were new people and she depended on him to do the introductions and for his support to make the party a success.

‘Take it easy,’ she settled for saying before heading up to shower and change.

An hour later, she was back in a low-cut cherry-red silk dress she’d bought a few weeks before but never worn. She wasn’t sure about it, wondering if she looked a bit mutton-dressed-as-lamb, wondering too if she could carry the cherry-red colour with her auburn hair. Freya would have told her; she would have stood with her head tilted to one side and assessed her outfit carefully before breaking into a smile that was so sweet that whatever she said – good or bad – was always acceptable. Molly missed her every day.

‘What do you think?’ she asked Jack when she came back to the living room. He was standing by the window, the bottle of beer in one hand.

Turning, he raised the bottle to his mouth and took a gulp before answering. ‘Isn’t it a bit…’ He waved a hand at his chest.

She glanced down, adjusted the neckline slightly and frowned. ‘Am I showing too much cleavage?’

He waggled the bottle from side to side. ‘No, I suppose it’s fine.’

She’d hoped for you look amazing; she’d even have settled for you look nice but this damning with faint praise was upsetting. Looking down at her dress again, she hesitated. There was time to change into something else.

‘No, I’m sorry,’ Jack said, coming over and putting an arm around her waist. ‘You look lovely, don’t mind me.’

‘You sure?’ she said, putting a hand on his shoulder.

‘Positive, you look amazing.’

Molly smiled. It was what she’d hoped he would say, a little later than she’d have liked but she’d take it.

Turning from him, she checked the room, straightening cushions Jack had knocked askew.

‘Relax and stop fussing,’ he said, opening the fridge and taking out another beer.

‘I want it to be perfect.’ Molly adjusted the flowers yet again, wondering if she should have chosen a different colour scheme. She took a step back and tilted her head. ‘Do you think these are a bit blah?’ When he didn’t answer, she turned, frowning to see him drinking the beer from the bottle. ‘They’ll be arriving soon, Jack, use a glass.’

‘It tastes better from the bottle,’ he said, holding it to his mouth and gulping a quarter down. ‘And the flowers look fine. It’s all fucking perfect so stop obsessing.’

Molly blinked. Jack rarely swore. ‘There’s nothing wrong with wanting everything to be–’