She liked being in the bubble of her little car, one of the only places where she found peace, where no one could get to her. The familiarity of the interior comforted her: the fruity-scented air fresheners that swung from the back of her mirror; the splash of green and bright turquoise from a broken necklace in the cup holder. It was a far more daring decor than she would have in her house, where everything was safe and biscuit-toned, lifted with a splash of bright colour from the odd flowery cushion and her fancy-pants three-arm bedroom chandelier picked out in gold. She liked sitting in the driver’s seat at the end of the working day or when she’d finished her shop at the supermarket. It was her tiny rusting haven on wheels.

Her mum’s question loomed large in her mind.

‘What is wrong with you, Bess?’ she said aloud into the rear-view mirror, gazing at her reflection. The plain, dough-faced woman who stared back was apparently just as fresh out of answers. The car behind beeped and she realised she had slowed to a dangerous speed as her concentration wandered. She put her foot down, holding up a hand in apology.

Her mum was right – she did need to find a way to like her life, and she used to, remembering how happy she had been when Mario came home and the kids ran to greet their dad at the door. But what if she was incapable now of liking the life she had? What if she was too laden with guilt, regret and the web of deceit she had spun to truly be happy? These thoughts had bubbled to the surface before. Standing on the front step to wave Jake and Daniel off on their Scottish honeymoon, she had watched the car disappear from the cul de sac and realised that with her kids gone and setting out on their own life adventures, she was left with a gaping hole in her thoughts, filled with memories of a train journey taken with her brother, and all that came after. Gripping the steering wheel, she felt a tight belt of dissatisfaction around her waist. She should like her life! They lived in a nice enough house, had two nice enough children and she went off quite happily to her nice enough job at the Evergreen Academy to prepare and serve lunch, and yet the sum of all these parts was not, as she might have hoped, a life that was enough. Not even close. The sum of these parts was for her in fact a life that was nothing short of disappointing. Any small bursts of happiness were a welcome distraction from the disappointment of the daily grind and frequent enough for her to stay put.