I tell Andy about all of this as we get ready for bed that night – thinking, well, it’s funny, isn’t it, the pube-in-China emergency? ‘So,’ I rattle on, ‘from a distance of 5,000 miles I finally managed to speak to a human being on the phone – they speak English, of course they do, Tianjin’s an international city of something like thirteen million people. Can you believe that? That there are these enormous cities, way bigger than London, some of them, that most people in Britain have never even heard of?’

I clamber into bed. Andy is sitting on the edge of it, seemingly engrossed in the task of peeling off a sock.

‘Andy?’

He flinches as if he’s only just remembered I’m here. ‘Huh?’

‘I was just saying, most people haven’t even heard of it.’

‘Haven’t heard of what?’

‘Tianjin.’

He gives me a baffled stare. ‘Tian … jin?’

‘It’s where Rose is right now.’ I think you’ll find it’s in China.

‘Oh, is it? Right …’

As he climbs into bed, I wonder if this is how it feels to do stand-up and be faced with row upon row of unsmiling faces as your routine bombs. Maybe it’s my material, you’d think, desperately. I need to change direction – find something fresh and new.

The problem is, this is my life. It’s the only material I have.

Chapter Three

Thursday, February 14

No Valentine’s present – not even a card – but then I didn’t get anything for Andy either. This year, we decided ‘not to honour Valentine’s Day’. As it was by mutual agreement (at least, he suggested it and I couldn’t think of a good enough reason to disagree without seeming needy or simply wanting a gift), I can hardly be huffy about it. In fact, I don’t even mention it. I just get ready for work as normal, and chivvy Izzy along, pretending it’s just an ordinary day.

Until last year, we exchanged cards at least. The fact that even this ritual has dropped off the radar gives me an uneasy feeling deep in my gut, but I try to ignore it as I drive to work.