‘Yes, quite unplanned, Bessie. We used to come out for holidays when the kids were little, but since Lawrie retired and our oldest, Brandon, took over the business, we’re here more and more. Funnily enough, when we bought the house, I thought of you – we always said, didn’t we, that we wanted a balcony with a fantastic view?’

‘We did.’ Bess felt suddenly a pang of longing for that sunset view as much as for the company of her old friend.

‘We’ve still got a place in London, though. I couldn’t bear to be away from my grandchildren for too long.’

‘Michelle, you’re a nanna! How wonderful!’ She meant it – funny that this was the thing that caused a flare of pure envy, not so much the second home in the Vale de doo dah or whatever it was called and not a place in London, but grandchildren . . . Little ones she could love unconditionally and who she hoped would love her in return, and she could immerse herself back in family life. She pictured Natalie rushing off to work and wished her daughter had someone nice to support her in both her career and in her desire to become a mum.

‘I know you have a boy and a girl. My mum used to chat to your mum when they bumped into each other.’

‘Yes, Jake and Natalie, both lovely.’

‘Of course they are.’ Michelle was smiling kindly, she could tell.

There was another pause, as if, when they weren’t discussing the rudimentary, they faltered. Maybe Michelle was also fearful of opening old wounds, reliving past hurts or of souring this rare contact that, so far, was going well.

‘I often think about you, Bessie,’ she said.

‘And I you.’ Bess swallowed: it was the truth. Many were the moments in her life big and small when her instinct was to call Michelle, to make her laugh, share her joy, get her take on things or to fall into her arms when the world felt a bit too much. Her wedding day, the births of Jake and Natalie, her miscarriage, her cancer scare, her sad days and her angry ones, all had a Michelle-shaped hole in them.

‘It’s funny, isn’t it, how you have great mates throughout your life, but those teenage years, that closeness’ – Michelle paused – ‘it was a special time, wasn’t it?’

‘It really was.’ Bess hated the emotion that threatened.

‘Can you imagine now wanting to wear the exact same clothes as someone and have the same hair and same accessories?’

Bess chuckled. It was funny, and yet every sentence seemed to veer dangerously close to the topic she knew they would both be keen to avoid.

‘We were kids,’ Bess reminded herself.

Michelle took a deep breath. ‘. . . In some ways.’

Bess felt uncomfortable and looked down at the welcome mat by the front door, covered in clumps of plaster from Mario’s boots.