‘Calm down, Bess! I never opened them.’ He leant forward and patted her in the way he might Chutney. ‘I wouldn’t do that. I held them, marvelled at them, all those envelopes addressed to “E” with a kiss by the initial and a kiss on the envelope.’

Bess stuttered her tears, trying to calm her distress and catch her breath. It was a relief to know the envelopes were still intact.

‘I figured it was some past or imaginary love. I discounted it being a current love, or you would have posted them, right? Many is the night in recent years when you didn’t want to kiss me goodnight or went cold if I came in for a cuddle. I wondered if you were thinking of “E” and I’d lie awake long after you’d fallen asleep, trying to guess his name – Edward or Eddie like your dad, Ernest, Emlyn, Elvis?’ He gave a dry laugh. ‘I figured that if dreaming of him gave you a bit of a lift on the days when your mood was good or helped you through the dark days, then did it really matter? So I said nothing. I figured he must have meant a lot to you, because how many envelopes are there – twenty?’

‘Thirty-six,’ she whispered. ‘There are thirty-six.’ With her breath now more even, she took in his words.

‘Well, there we go – a very precise figure,’ he snorted.

‘It’s . . . It’s a she, not a he.’

‘A she?’ He sounded incredulous.

‘Yes,’ Bess sniffed.

‘Well, I didn’t see that coming!’ he said, blowing a sudden gust of surprise. ‘So are you gay or bi? Have you . . . ?’ He let this trail.

‘No, Mario, how would I keep that from you?’

‘I don’t know, Bess. You tell me. It seems you’re pretty good at keeping things from me.’

She took that.

‘So, if she’s not a love interest . . .’

Bess could hear her blood rushing in her ears. She had often thought what it would be like to hear this news from Mario if it were his secret, and she was no closer, all these years later, in fathoming how she might get through it.

‘I had . . .’ She coughed to clear her throat. ‘I had a baby.’

‘You . . . you what? What do you mean?’ he asked, in the manner of someone who had misheard, misunderstood or both.

‘I . . . I had a baby. She’s . . . she’s my daughter.’

Mario seemed to slump in the bed. Bess could feel the pulse beating fast in her neck. She shrank back against the wall, clutching her knees, weakened by having said the words out loud. It was as if a large boulder had slipped from her gut, leaving her spent and exhausted.

‘I don’t understand!’