He wouldn’t let me wait for Ruby: I had no say in that either. ‘She’s a grown-up, babe, isn’t she?’ he’d said as he hurried me along. ‘Mr Jackson wants to talk to me about his daughter anyway.’

Thank God for the very expensive wine that handsome, dull husband Marcus had plied us with. I’d let myself be topped up again and again, while Ruby had sat opposite, awestruck, bless her; the husband basking in my friend’s admiration.

Pulling a face in the mirror, I noted the tributary of lines round my eyes. Laughter lines, I suppose I could call them, if I was being kind. And a mark, surely, of – what? – maturity?

Nope. The fact I was officially getting old. Too old to conceive.

I screwed the lid back tight on the shiny little pot and shoved it behind the Tampax in the cabinet. Then I pulled the box back out of the bin quickly to ensure I’d definitely removed the price.

At the window, I checked my phone for the fifteenth time since recharging it.

Nothing. Not from Cecilia, and not from…

Opposite, a skinny dog of beige description peed up the street light, its owner following behind disinterestedly, and I thought of Ruby, lover of all animals great and small, clopping home alone in her too-high mules, almost child-like herself from the back.

At least she’d hadn’t worn her usual dungarees: the last grasp at girlhood at nearly forty-seven, though they suited her well. A dress that drowned her instead: bless Ruby.

After everything that had befallen her in the past few years, it was hardly surprising she fell for any attention.

But honestly, I’d wanted to shout earlier, watching that arrogant bloke preening under my friend’s gaze, honestly, Ruby. He has a game plan, can’t you see!

Outside, the skinny dog lolloped off into the shadows. I gazed towards the much-discussed conversion of Nella’s new neighbour to the far corner of the square, praying for a glimmer…

Come on, come on!

Just the darkness.

Just the dark.

I dropped my hand.

Nothing a good night staring at the ceiling wouldn’t sort out.

But, turning away, a flare of light hit the corner of my eye, and the surge of adrenaline was pure dynamite as I flipped the blind again.

Thank God!

Except. Not the solitary bike light I’d been praying for but a set of headlights, skimming the slick electric gates Rex and I had passed on our way home, with some flouncy monogram carved into them.

This time the gates slid open, smooth as butter, and the sleek silver car purred through, the gates shutting smoothly behind it.

The elusive neighbour then, finally home.

I lay down warily, as far on the edge as I dared without actually falling off.

In the bed showroom, Rex had declared a king-size ‘extravagant’.

‘Despite my name,’ he’d quipped loudly, staring at the weedy shop assistant to check he’d heard. ‘Rex. Means king, you know.’

Rex had again declared the king oversized for our boxy bedroom. Even if we could do with more mattress – and I’d seen him check the assistant had got this meaning.