Esther unzipped her overnight bag for the handy pack of tissues she knew was inside. Seeing Viv’s journal, she took that out too, balancing it on her lap as she blew her nose. Behind her back, the hall radiator was clicking into life, warming her spine, easing out the stiffness from the long drive. Chico had reappeared, but was keeping his distance with gymnastics along the bottom stair, throwing out his best look-at-me glances through his paws.

Write your life! Esther shook her head at the familiar, impossible command as she eased out the many times lost-and-found little pencil that lived in the notebook’s spine. Riffling through the pages, she chuckled ruefully at the very first, scathing ‘happy bloody birthday to me’ entry, and all the haphazard jottings that followed: grocery lists, to-pack lists, to-do lists, work thoughts, the torn-out pages to write to Viv in France, and to message the squatter who had never returned; gauche efforts to describe the genius of Dutch masters along with the occasional stab at actually pinning down her own feelings – the little book had indeed become a biographic chronicle of sorts. A messy mishmash, just like her life. Just like any life. Esther sighed, pressing open a clean page. It was too soon to even begin to try to find words for all that had just happened. The past, at least, had started to feel more understood. And the present, for that matter. It was the future that now required attention.

NEW YEAR RESOLUTIONS

Not to mind being alone. (Be serene! Self-reliant!)

Get Viv back.

Push for full contract (4 days a week)

Phase out piano lessons – except Billy!

See Shona more

Have parents to Sunday lunches REGULARLY because one day they will DIE

Devise conversion of house & garden into oasis of beauty

Find D’s thrill-seeker voucher and book a date!

Start jogging. Once a week min. (NB: option to abandon after one month)

The list grew as the afternoon wore into the evening, Esther adding to it between emptying the cat litter, fixing herself tea, eating many biscuits, filling the washing machine, sifting through her post, and then running herself a deep, hot, foamy bath. Before lowering herself beneath the suds, she set her phone to a new ‘Chill’ playlist, and lit a scented candle that had been gathering dust since Lily gave it to her the Christmas before.

When her mobile rang, cutting through the music, she forced herself not to move. She was half asleep, bath foam up to her chin, wisps from her makeshift bun trailing in the water lapping over her shoulders. Deliciously tired, when she eventually clambered out, she slipped straight into her favourite, old, pink pyjamas as soon as she was towelled dry and then browsed for a new book to take to bed, only then checking who had tried to ring. It was Marcus and he had left a voice message.