Zach was a toddler when Faye first tried to tell Derek how hurtful his teasing could be. They’d spent a weekend camping on the coast with their friends. His relentless gags about Faye’s poor mothering abilities—she’d forgotten to put the bag she’d packed for Zach in the car and they’d had to go into a nearby village to buy new stuff—wore thin after the first day. Derek didn’t notice.

“Look,” he said, pointing to Diane as she smeared two-year-old Alice with sunscreen. “Ali is wearing the same swimsuit she wore last week. What’s that, Di? Oh, you didn’t think she needed a full set of new clothing for the weekend? Ha-ha.”

When they had pulled in to the garage at home that night, Zach’s bag lay on the floor near the wall. Faye suddenly recalled Derek putting it there after he’d insisted on rearranging things and had taken it out of the trunk where she’d placed it. She’d wondered if he remembered too, but said nothing.

“We should do that more often,” he said, as they prepared for bed later.

She didn’t respond.

“Go away with the gang, I mean,” continued Derek. “We don’t see enough of them. It was like old times. Well . . . except for all the rugrats.”

He chuckled. Still, Faye said nothing.

“What? You don’t agree? You didn’t enjoy the weekend?”

“I did,” she said, avoiding his eyes as she fluffed her pillow. “It’s just—”

“Don’t tell me you still feel like an outsider. Please Faye, not after all this time.”

“What? No, of course not.”

“What then?”

“It’s just that when we’re with other people you seem to enjoy making fun of me.”

“Making fun of you?”

“Yes, the teasing, it . . . it was a bit much this weekend.”

He leaned towards her. “Teasing?”

“About leaving Zach’s bag. Did you see it—”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, don’t be so sensitive. I was joking. You must know that?”

“The thing is, it’s always at my expense.”

“That’s nonsense. I kid everyone. What’s wrong with you? Are you . . . . You’re not—?”

Faye climbed into bed and picked up her book. “No. Don’t worry about it. Forget I said anything.”

“Sure. Okay. It’s just . . . well, it’s as if my wife just doesn’t get me all of a sudden,” he muttered as he headed into the bathroom.

More like your wife finally gets you, thought Faye.

The weekend came up again a few weeks later when, at Diane and Bruce’s home for Sunday lunch, the women were alone in the kitchen.

“Did you ever find Zach’s bag?” asked Diane.