‘Urgent business.’ Nella blew a kiss from the doorway. ‘Can you sort the price lists for the bar while I’m gone?’

Nella

I didn’t admit to anyone where I was going.

I couldn’t really.

Ruby, for all her puppy-dog adoration of Marcus, was doing too much of the work, I knew that. One part of me felt bad, but I also knew that if I stopped and admitted it, I’d crack. And she seemed keen enough, didn’t she? Probably kept her busy, in her lonely widowhood; yes, she was probably glad of the company and the distraction – no?

Still, even I could see that sneaking off to get a professional make-up job in Selfridges didn’t look good – but I honestly felt so low, I thought it was the only thing that could save me, get me through the day.

And I deserved it surely?

It was such a bloody effort keeping up the facade all the time; employing every last sweat-bead to demonstrate everything was effortless.

When it actually felt like nothing was.

Things had become so bad with Beau last year, I’d been so near the edge then. After his last diagnosis, the shock of it, the world had seemed a harsh place. Nothing, no method I employed, seemed to work, to make me feel better.

Then Willow. Oh, my sweet girl.

Who would have thought this could happen? I’d given my kids my all – and still.

I thought taking this job would help, as a distraction at the least, but honestly, selling fake diamonds and kitchen mops on the Super Shopping Channel was a horrid step down from my days on Sky’s The Week’s Review. I spent most of the time hating everything to do with it – and the rest of the time praying no one I knew was actually watching. Whenever I’d been asked what my new show was, I’d said it was ‘in production’, which wasn’t untrue.

The taxi pulled out of the square, and I almost felt relief – almost, until we immediately hit the roadworks at the far end of Ladbroke Grove.

I drummed my fingernails impatiently on the seat beside me, wishing I’d replaced this shellac last week. It was chipping. I dug around my bag for my Rennies, until I realised I’d run out again.

Everything was running out.

My shoulders were so tense, they were up around my ears, as they always were now; had been really, since Willow was asked to leave school. Since Beau in the woods. Since I’d taken the stupid job.

I’d only done it to prove to myself, to prove to the others, I wasn’t just Marcus’s ‘other half’. The one who looked good (most of the time), who spent hours achieving it. Who bought nice furniture and painted houses matching colours, who arranged fabulous holidays and charity events, and gave great, catered dinner parties, and overcooked every egg I made myself.

My perfect life was so far from perfect, every ounce of energy spent making it look like this, plastering up the facade.