‘Gosh, this is a bit naff, isn’t it?’

Jo’s voice came from the hallway, dragging Allison back from her confused self-reflection. She stood, too quickly, a hand reaching for the wall when she was overcome with sudden weakness. Too little food, too much alcohol. The weakness passed as quickly as it had come and she followed Jo, who had switched on the light in the dining room and was walking around the table, staring at the frankly hideous paintings on the wall.

Allison stood in the doorway, a hand resting on the frame keeping her anchored. ‘Peter inherited the house from his parents. The décor was their choice.’

‘They died recently?’ Jo put the bottles she held down on the table.

Allison wanted to remonstrate and tell her both bottles would leave ring marks on the wood. Peter had, frequently, and she’d resisted the temptation to argue the table was hideous and should be chopped up for firewood. Now, strangely, she wanted to save the damn ugly piece from ruin. Rather than remonstrating, she took coasters from a drawer and slipped them under each offender. ‘No, they died several years ago.’

‘And he never redecorated?’ Jo looked at Allison in amazement. ‘It’s dreadfully dated, isn’t it? Weren’t you tempted to gut it when you moved in?’

‘We had plans to knock the wall down between this room and the kitchen.’ Allison pointed to the shared wall. ‘We never got around to it. I suppose we were still in the honeymoon phase of our marriage.’ The expression, one Peter had used so often, came unbidden. She wished tears would come, it would be a good effect, but she didn’t cry. Never had, even when she’d had more reason years before.

‘Sit, I’ll get the food.’ She placed her glass down on another coaster and left the room. The takeaway was sitting on the counter. She took the cartons out and placed the main course in the microwave. There was also a portion of tiramisu… she wasn’t sharing it, and put it into the fridge. With two plates heating in the oven, she took cutlery through to the dining room and set them on the table. ‘It’s spaghetti alle vongole – I hope that’s okay.’

She almost laughed when she saw Jo’s blank reaction. Seriously, had she really expected pizza? ‘I’m just giving it a blast to heat it; I’ll be back in a second.’ Allison was back sooner than her guest had expected, and she hid the smile to find Jo checking her mobile.

That she’d been doing an internet search was proven a moment later when she sniffed the food with assumed pleasure. ‘I just adore clams.’

The restaurant was generous with their portions, but whereas it was more than sufficient for one, it was stretched for two.

‘You’ve given me far too much,’ Jo said, tucking a fork into the pasta.