Bess knew that every penny, every thought, every opportunity and every experience she had managed to catch in her hands had all been balled, neatly wrapped and handed to her two kids and, even now, despite them being grown-up, she was still, every single day, watching their backs. Seeing Jake married and waltzing out of the door with Daniel and the way Nats had to fit her in around her gym visits and her busy job made her question for the first time whether she had been right to put herself last, to let the fire of her marriage dwindle until the roaring flames of love and desire were no more than glowing embers. Had she been right to pour all of her energies into her kids, while Mario kept quiet and for decades had struggled to find the right moment in which to tell her how much he mourned the baby they had lost? Her thoughts spun and she felt the beginnings of a headache.

Her mum took her time in responding. ‘You went on that holiday to Ibiza with Mario before you were married, and I’m pretty sure you had sex there!’

‘I did, Mum, yes, you’re right,’ she said sharply, frustrated.

Her mum opened her mouth to speak, but the look Bess shot her encouraged her to stay quiet.

‘And I look at Mario,’ Bess continued, ‘who works and sleeps and then works and sleeps some more, and I wonder when we’re going to get going. It’s like we’ve lost our way. We’ve stalled. It’s like we’re stuck on this bloody treadmill, and the years slip by . . . Sometimes I want to get in the car, take the holiday money out of the tin and drive as far as I can – which, knowing my luck, would be Frinton. Not that there’s anything wrong with Frinton.’

‘Your Auntie Nerys lived in Frinton.’

‘I know she did.’ There was a pause while both considered how to proceed. It was obviously not quite the birthday lunch either of them had envisaged.

‘Mario’s a good man.’ Her mum’s voice was steady.

‘I know this too.’ This apparently was now her stock response and all she could draw from the well of despair. It didn’t feel good to be reminded of how wonderful Mario was and what a burden she must be.

‘He looks after you, he looks after the kids and he’s very good to us. He takes care of everything.’

‘Yes, and he always has; he has always taken care of everything – he’s a saint.’ Bess was aware of her sarcastic tone, but it was too late to retract. She didn’t mean it. The truth was, she had always felt that Mario could do so much better than a screw-up like her and it didn’t make her feel good.