Which was true really – my new rota was busy. So busy that, in between keeping Rex sweet and working, there was no time to play. Well…

That wasn’t true in all respects; of course it wasn’t.

As the whoosh of the text sounded, I leant my head on the glass, my eyes sore and grainy. It had stopped raining now and everything outside was glistening, dark and shiny with wet. It looked tempting somehow, like the streets were paved with black gold.

In front of the flats next door, a car pulled in, music thumping – a pink Range Rover Evoque.

Seconds later, the passenger door opened – and Fin got out.

I leant in further, scrunching my eyes to see better as he grinned through the open window at the driver, walking away with a wave.

I couldn’t help myself; as the car began an elaborate three-point turn, I stood on tiptoe to squint down.

Who had Fin just spent the evening with?

The street light caught the gold of rings on the steering wheel as the driver pulled it around before shooting off down the road in a slick of rain.

I slid back into bed beside my snoring husband, unwilling to name the feeling I desperately pushed down.

Nella

FRIDAY 22 SEPTEMBER

By the weekend before the party, I was pleased to note Willow was obviously settling into Northgate High. She’d been so furious about it initially, but now she was walking home with Jan Vermaak’s sweet daughter Lola most days and, occasionally, Cecilia Whitaker – if the latter wasn’t with Zach March. It was a welcome surprise, allowing me to concentrate on party prep.

Seeing more of the other mums, I’d started to think that, maybe, I could have been more upfront about why Willow had to leave St Bede’s; maybe it’d have helped my anxiety to share it. A problem halved, etcetera.

Embarrassment stopped me though, to be honest. It was hard – as were hiding the self-harm scars she’d worked so hard on all last year.

And the street party preparations were taking a lot out of me, on top of the new TV job, after all this time away. I booked myself an all-day spa: a little ‘me time’ to decompress: it would sort me out surely?

After a blissful day of being rubbed and scrubbed, I felt I could finally breathe again. In the Uber home, I allowed myself to check my emails.

One from the marriage therapist, telling me that ‘sadly she needed to end our sessions, due to a lack of commitment on our part’.

Good riddance: I didn’t care; especially after Marcus had actually tried to flirt with her in the last session, to get her on side, presumably.

In the midst of the rest was one from an unknown sender: [email protected]. Subject header: Guess Who?!

A file was attached; a home movie by the looks of it. I clicked and opened it. It took me a few minutes to understand what I was watching.