‘Small, but nice, you know. Decent shared garden. I’ve just signed up for six months so I’m not committed beyond that.’

‘Right.’ Why is he supplying me with all this information? Last place, he wouldn’t even let his daughter visit.

‘You’re really welcome to come over,’ he adds. ‘For coffee, I mean.’

I smile. ‘Yes, I realise that, Andy. I didn’t think you meant anything else.’

He clears his throat. ‘Okay, well, I’d better carry on packing then …’

‘Good luck,’ I say.

‘Thanks.’ He hesitates. ‘So, are you all ready for Christmas?’

I can’t help smiling at that; it’s the kind of thing someone would say when they’re serving you in a shop. In fact, I do feel okay about this, our first Christmas apart in all the years we’ve known each other. Andy is heading up north to spend it with his parents, and has already asked, tentatively, if Izzy and I might consider coming too. I knew what he was asking really; if I might consider us getting back together.

I explained, without any feelings of irritation or sadness, that that won’t happen. But I have promised to call them on Christmas Day and I hope, genuinely, that they all enjoy their time together. As for Izzy and me, we are spending it at Jules, Erol and Maeve’s this year. They tend to have a houseful and I know it’ll be fun. Izzy is delighted.

‘Viv,’ Andy says now, ‘if I send you a pic that I think’s funny, you won’t go mental, will you?’

‘What kind of pic?’ I ask.

‘You’ll see,’ he says, and I can tell he’s smiling now. So this is where we are, I realise now: at the sending-funny-pictures stage. Does this mean we can be friends? I’m not entirely against it.

We finish the call, and a few moments later the text pings in. It’s a picture of me, pissed, glancing around furtively whilst stuffing an omelette under his windscreen wiper.

His caption reads: Recognise anyone?

Never seen that woman in my life, I reply with a smile.

Chapter Forty-Two

Tuesday, December 17

I used to make these lists all the time in my head. They helped somehow. One of them went like this:

Things Andy Moaned About

The unbuttered scone situation.

Parking at work.

Decline in loo paper quality.

The (imagined) cheesy smell in the wardrobe in Paris.

Midges.

My sweating.

But I no longer do that because we are okay, Andy and me. We are so proud of our kids, and I often remind myself that Spencer and Izzy are the result of us. And right now I am filled with happiness – not because I’m free of all of Andy’s grumbling, but because it’s a beautiful winter’s day, and Nick is coming soon.