The room was small and warm, empty except for three low chairs and a low table on which, I noticed, there was a discreet box of tissues.

“Thanks.” I felt awkward, tongue-tied. “I don’t know why I’m here,” I said. “I’ve no idea what to say.”

“Why don’t you start at the beginning,” she said, “and see where that takes you?”

So I began with the knock at the door, on that Monday evening in October. I didn’t look at Judy as I spoke but bent over in my chair and put my hand across my eyes. I didn’t tell her about my amateur-detective work, or about my disbelief that Greg had had an affair. I just talked about losing him: that seemed to take up all the time.

“I feel so bleak and empty,” I said at last. “I wish I could cry.”

“I’m sure you will in time.” Her voice was softer and lower now; the room felt darker, as if the light had faded while I was there and we were in some twilit world. “There are so many things going on, aren’t there?” she continued. “Grief, anger, shame, loneliness, fear of the future.”

“Yes.”

“And having to see the past differently.”

“My happiness. I thought I was happy.”

“Indeed. Even that must seem unreliable. But by coming here you have taken an important step in your journey.”

I took my hand away from my eyes and met her brown gaze.

“It hurts so badly,” I said. “The journey.”

WE ARRANGED TO meet the following week, and I went from her to the shops. I had made myself a promise that I would start looking after myself. No more empty cupboards and midnight snacks, eaten standing up, of cheese and handfuls of dry cereal. Regular meals; regular work; honest work. I put pasta, green pesto, rice, Parmesan, olive oil, six eggs, tins of tuna and sardines, lettuce, cucumber and an avocado into my trolley. Muesli. Chicken breasts, salmon fillets—it’s hard to buy for one; everything comes in couple sizes. “For sharing,” it said, on the flat bread I added to the rest. Tonight, I thought, I would make myself a simple supper. I would sit at the table and eat it, with a glass of wine. Followed by—I tested it with my thumb for ripeness and put it in the trolley—a mango. I would read a book and go to bed at eleven, turn out the light.