Bess stared at the phone in her lap, feeling now, as she always did, the loss of her one and only sibling. It hadn’t been instant, but rather a slow thing: where first he moved away and next declined an invitation to Christmas. He then sent gifts instead of tearing down the motorway to see her newborn babies and his phone calls became sporadic, their conversations stilted, until they arrived at the point where for him to pitch up or show more interest in her life would have seemed odd. It hurt and made her feel lonely, the lack of his presence – the one person who knew as much about her childhood as she did . . . She missed him as much now as she always had.

She looked out of the window as she ended the call, in time to see Mario walking up the driveway. Even if she hadn’t been expecting him, couldn’t see his face, she would have known him by his walk, the shape of him and the way he reached into his pocket for his keys. Her husband. The man she knew inside and out. Her heart jumped. They had a lot to talk about, a lot to do, but this felt very much like a beginning. Butterflies of nerves and excitement fluttered in her gut.

Mario swung his empty flask and lunch box in one hand and a small towel in the other, an old one that he used to wipe his mucky hands. She noticed the lack of chip bags and her stomach grumbled, not that she was hungry, not really, but the thought of chips was enough to override that minor factor. Plus, she wanted the distraction of unpacking the food, fetching the plates, cutlery and the ketchup bottle, props, anything, in fact, to occupy her hands, while she told him how much she loved him and how this was the start of a new dawn, deciding it would be easier to begin the hardest of conversations if she was busying about as usual. Her mind might be set on putting things right, but old ghosts still pawed at her confidence, confirming what they had established earlier, that they weren’t the kind to sit down and analyse things, but more the ‘chat as they went’ kind of couple.

A quick glance at the clock told her it was five o’clock, probably a tad too early for supper and, besides, she hadn’t heard back from the kids yet. She heard his key in the door, followed by the thud, thud of his heavy, sweaty boots, proof of a hard day’s graft, hitting the laminate floor. Later, she would pair them and place them in the cupboard under the stairs, like she did every night, and he would retrieve them in the morning, and she would be happy for this life lived in sync – in glorious sync!