By rights, I should have no tears left in me – but as the evening progresses I find myself blubbing at a video clip of a seagull being detangled by experts from a wire on a building, and thus saved; plus another of a bride and groom – whom I don’t even know – having their photos taken outside a church (Q: How do you know if you’re menopausal? A: When you start crying at unknown people getting married).

I’m not sure whether tonight’s teary episodes are linked to Cathy’s birthday yesterday, and having my present-sourcing duties torn away from me, or are just part of the general hormonal shitstorm that seems to be going on. If it’s the former, I should be pleased that parental gifts are being taken care of. I’d hate to think of my mother-in-law’s birthday being forgotten, or for her to be palmed off with biscuits, even in a fancy tin. However, it has also occurred to me that, if Andy is such a whizz at shopping these days, then why did I spend twenty odd years haring about town, sweating like a horse as I sourced presents for his entire family and their billions of children, not to mention wrapping them with fancy bows?

‘Mum?’ Izzy cuts into my thoughts. She has just had her bath, and is pulling on her pyjamas as I gather up her dirty laundry.

‘Yes, love?’

She frowns at me across her room. ‘Why are there tears in your eyes?’

‘It’s just sweat, love. I’m hot …’

‘You’re sweating out of your eyes?’

I force a laugh. ‘I know. Weird, isn’t it?’ I rub at them, and quickly tuck her in and kiss her, relieved when no more quizzing comes. And it occurs to me, as I head downstairs, that I lost so much in all those years I spent with Andy: my spirit and, latterly, my dignity, plus all that time I spent running around, being the dutiful wife. Even if I’d fancied having a ruddy affair of my own, I’d never have had the opportunity. I was too busy choosing sheepskin slippers for his dad and a Winnie the Pooh mobile for his niece.

Wednesday, August 14

As Izzy has been invited to a friend’s house for tea, I have a little extra time on my hands after work. With a rough plan to spend too much money on unnecessary items, I detour to the vast shopping mall on my way home.

Not being a huge shopper generally, I rarely venture into its enclaves. However, occasionally I am seized by an urge to be somewhere dazzlingly artificial, with bland music playing, where you only have to set foot in a store for young women to hurtle towards you with fragrances to try.