‘Oh no! No,’ I laugh, knowing I was right about us all eyeing each other up and jumping to conclusions from our observations.

‘Sorry, I saw the rings and just put two and two together,’ she says, shaking her head with embarrassment. ‘I’m Bronagh, by the way. That’s Josh and Ben over there, my sons,’ she adds, pointing across the aisle to where her sons are sat heads down, their faces sullen while their eyes are transfixed on the gaming devices in their hands. They could be anywhere right now.

‘Well, hello, Bronagh, I’m Vicky,’ I say. ‘And that over there is Mike, one of my best mates, and so is Zaza in front of him,’ I say, stopping myself from saying anything else about Zaza and realizing how silly it looks with us all spread out and me opting to sit next to a stranger rather than one of them. ‘My husband is actually at home with the kids.’

‘You have children?’ she asks, her eyes widening.

‘Yes, two. A very energetic boy and a cheeky little girl,’ I say with a grin. Even thinking of them makes my heart swell with pride as their faces come into my mind.

‘And you left them to do this?’ Surprise flickers across her face.

‘Yes …’

There’s a pause as she processes the information and works out how to respond.

‘Well, good for you, taking some time for yourself. That’s good. More mums should be doing just that, putting themselves first,’ she says, reaching across with her own ringed hand and giving my hand a pat. ‘I couldn’t do it myself, I’d never last a week without them even at this age, but it’s great that you are and can.’

The words instantly sting, making the apples of my cheeks hot as though this woman has just slapped me right across the face.

‘I’m with them every day. You know, stay at home,’ I state. ‘I don’t have a nanny or anything. My youngest isn’t even in nursery yet.’

‘Oh, so young,’ she smiles. ‘Bet they’ve found this separation incredibly tough.’

She’s not being bitchy exactly, but she is. Her comments are loaded with judgement and they crush me.

‘Where’s your husband?’ I ask, looking down at the patting hand as she pulls it away.

‘He died very suddenly a couple of months ago,’ she says with a pursed smile, looking down at her hand.

‘I’m so sorry to hear that,’ I say, instantly regretting having asked and therefore making her have to reveal information I imagine she’d rather she didn’t have to tell a complete stranger on a stuffy bus in Peru – especially one who has left her very much alive husband and children back at home by choice.

‘Depression is an awful thing,’ she states. ‘It’s why I feel I need to be with them, my boys, making every second count.’