‘Er, vaguely.’ Although I have to admit, I’ve had more pressing matters on my mind.

‘Well, they’re finally finished. The idea is, everyone’ll stay for the week and it’ll end with a big party in the restaurant.’

‘Everyone?’ My heart seems to twist.

‘Yeah, Mum and Dad and the whole rabble …’

With everything that’s happened, it hasn’t yet sunk in properly that my relationship with his parents will change dramatically. I’m extremely fond of them, and I know they are of me. But what will happen now?

‘Seems like Nina’s put a lot of effort into fitting them out,’ he goes on. ‘She’s had quilts made – bespoke quilts – and there are log-burning stoves and sheepskin rugs …’

‘It sounds amazing,’ I remark flatly.

‘Better than camping, anyhow,’ he rabbits on. ‘You know how bad the midges can be up there—’

‘Andy?’ I cut in.

‘Yes?’

Shit, I think I’m going to lose it now. ‘She’s not going with you, is she? To this gathering, I mean?’

‘What?’

‘You know who I mean. You’re not taking her, are you, on your family holiday with Izzy?’

‘Christ, no!’ he exclaims, looking aghast. ‘No, Viv, I promise you …’

‘If you were, I’d want to know.’

‘Of course she’s not coming,’ he says firmly. ‘We’ve agreed, haven’t we, that I’ll tell you when – if I feel it’s okay for them to meet. But that’s not happening anytime soon.’

Why not? I want to ask, conscious of my Penny-inspired bravado dwindling rapidly. Does a tiny part of you wonder if you’ve made a mistake? What made you want her anyway? Apart from her obvious beauty, intelligence, amazing career and impeccable dress sense, what caused you to choose her over your neurotic, perpetually worrying wife who works at the nerve centre of extruded snack pellets?

But I don’t ask these questions. I don’t ask anything at all. I just bark, ‘That’s fine. About the holiday, I mean.’ And I rub at my hot face as, blinking rapidly, I turn and march back to the house.

Chapter Eleven

Thursday, July 25

Well, I handled that well, I decide as I drop Izzy at holiday club and set off on the drive to work. I really held it together brilliantly last night, snapping at Andy in the street while Tim’s wife, Chrissie, who happens to be beautifully, serenely pregnant, glanced out from next door, twiddling with their blinds, pretending not to be watching us.