“You don’t believe what you’re saying, do you?” she said. “Not really.”

“Yes, I do. Though you clearly don’t.”

“Because I don’t agree with you, it doesn’t mean I’m not on your side. Are you trying to push us all away? It’s rotten, what’s happened. Really horrible. I have no idea how I’d be dealing with it in your situation. Listen, though.” She put a hand on my arm. “I do have a bit of an understanding of what you’re going through. You know Eric? Well, obviously you know Eric. You know what happened just after Robin was born—and when I say ‘just after,’ that’s what I mean. Three and a half weeks, to be precise.”

A feeling of dejection settled on me.

“He slept with this woman at work. I was woozy and weepy and tired, my breasts were sore, I’d only just had my stitches out so I could hardly sit down, sex was out of the question—I was a moony, overweight cow. And yet I was happy. I was so happy I thought I’d melt. And it wasn’t just once, a drunken mistake or something, it went on for weeks. He’d come home late, take lots of showers, be overattentive, overirritable. It’s such a bloody cliché, isn’t it? Looking back, I can’t believe I didn’t realize what was going on. It’s not as if the signs weren’t there. But I was blind, in my own little bubble of contentment. I had to practically see them together before I knew.”

“Why didn’t you tell me before?” I remembered again the conversation with Greg, in which I had insisted I would have known if Eric had been unfaithful to Mary.

“Because I felt humiliated. And stupid.” She glared at me. “So fat and ugly and useless and ashamed. You must understand that feeling now, after what’s happened to you. That’s why I’m telling you.”

“Mary,” I said, “I’m sorry. I wish we’d talked about it before. But it’s not the same.”

“What makes you and Greg so different?”

“He wouldn’t have behaved like that.”

“That’s what I used to say about Eric.”

“I have an instinct.”

“You can’t face the truth. I’m your friend. Remember? We can tell the truth to each other, even if it hurts.”

“It doesn’t hurt because it’s not true.”

“Has it occurred to you that maybe he was sick of having sex to get pregnant?”

I couldn’t stop myself: I flinched in pain, as if Mary had slapped me across the face.

“Oh, Ellie.” Her face softened; I saw there were tears in her eyes, whether from the cold or emotion I couldn’t tell.