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‘Scarlett! Are you back on British soil?’

‘I am indeed,’ I said.

‘Want to schedule in a lunch?’ she asked. ‘I need to hear all about the retreat. I bet it was a melting pot of ideas. All those couples with marital problems screaming blue murder at each other.’

‘It wasn’t really like that,’ I said, feeling the need to defend the people I’d spent the last week and a bit getting to know. ‘They were actually very nice.’

‘So, lunch?’ said Carla, who had clearly lost interest already.

‘I’m in Cambridge for a few days, actually,’ I told her,deciding I had nothing to hide. Surely she’d be sympathetic when she heard what was going on, and even if she wasn’t, what could she possibly do about it?

‘What on earth are you doing all the way up there?’ asked Carla with an air of disgust.

‘It’s, like, fifty miles from London,’ I said.

Carla was one of those people for whom the world revolved exclusively around the capital.

‘Is everything all right? That’s where your family are from, isn’t it?’ she asked.

‘My dad’s had a fall. But he’s doing well. I’m just hanging around for a bit while he’s still in hospital.’

Carla left it a beat or two. ‘I do hope he’s on the mend.’

Wait for it. I knew she would be dying to ask whether this was having an impact on my writing. And actually, it wasn’t. Traditionally when I was staying at my dad’s, I’d struggle to write anything decent because I felt paralysed with the weight of responsibility and instantly reverted to being a sad little nine-year-old girl/carer/surrogate mother. But this time, I’d felt differently. Possibly because my dad was being very well looked after elsewhere, but also because I thought my attitude had changed. And because I believed in this book and was actually enjoying writing my half of it, which was a welcome distraction from everything else going on.

‘I hate to ask, but I’ve got editors chasing me almost every day asking about chapters. Do you know when you and Theo are intending to finish your first draft?’ asked Carla.

Do not promise something you can’t deliver, I told myself. It was something I did a lot, particularly with publishing types: I’d agree to something, a deadline I knew was tight, and then I’d burn myself out trying to meet it. But what would happen if I didn’t do that? Was it feasible that I hadevery right to say no now and again? Nobody would get angry with me, surely, and even if they did, could I bear that? Could I stand my ground and say that more time was what I needed – within reason – and to hell with everyone else?

‘We haven’t got a definite date in mind,’ I told her, finding a compromise. ‘But we’re plugging away on our chapters and we’re in regular contact.’

‘Hmmmn,’ said Carla.

This clearly wasn’t the answer she was looking for.

‘I’m already under pressure with my dad in hospital, so I don’t feel like giving myself the extra stress of an impending deadline. Sorry. But I do think Theo and I are still working well together. We’ve made progress since we sent you the chapters and we’ll keep on making progress. Does that sound OK?’

I swallowed hard, not quite believing I was speaking to Carla so directly. I was usually terrified of upsetting her – I’d witnessed her shouting and screaming at people down the phone many a time and had never wanted to be on the receiving end of it. But today I’d decided to put mine and my dad’s wellbeing and sanity ahead of trying to meet a deadline that simply wasn’t achievable.

‘No problem,’ said Carla, sounding surprised. ‘And thank you for being honest with me. Just keep me in the loop.’

‘Of course,’ I said. ‘Now I’d better head off because I’ve got a Zoom call with Theo in five minutes.’

‘Fine. Go,’ said Carla. And then, just as I was about to hang up: ‘Oh, and Scarlett? I’m very pleased that you and Theo are back on speaking terms. I never did know what happened the first time around, but you both seem much happier with each other in your lives. I hope the time away together was helpful. It certainly sounds like it was.’

With the Zoom to Theo about to start, I popped to the bathroom to tidy myself up. A dab of blusher and a smear of lipstick later and I was looking much more Zoom-ready, but also not as though I was trying too hard.

Theo, clearly a stickler for time-keeping, was already on the call waiting for me when I logged on. I’d plonked myself in front of the most bookish backdrop I could find, the bookcase in the hall that still housed some of the all-time favourite reads from my youth:Anne of Green Gables, Rebecca, Pride and Prejudice. I used to love the classics and had devoured them late at night, when I finally got to bed and had an undisturbed hour to myself before I nodded off, unless Kate woke having one of her nightmares and I had to go into her little box room and comfort her. She’d often cry out for our mum, which had been hard. What nine-year-old would know what to say in a situation like that? Which person, in fact, because therewereno words of comfort when you were five and the person you loved most in the world wasn’t there anymore.

‘Hey,’ said Theo, his lovely face filling my screen.

‘Hello,’ I said, grinning at the sight of him.

‘How’s your dad?’ he asked, leaning forward as if he was trying to transport himself through the screen and into my hallway.

‘Better. They’ve got him up and out of bed. He’ll probably be home the day after tomorrow.’

‘That’s great news,’ he said. ‘Are you planning to hang around for a bit? Settle him back in?’