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But then I pull back. Things with Olly have been good. But they’ve been bad too. He’s pushed me before – a great, big, open-palmed shove when he was wobbling around drunk, trying a new pair of skis. He said it was an accident. He didn’t mean for me to fall. But …

‘Olly—’

‘Are you rejecting my proposal, Lizzie Nightingale?’

‘It’s just … what’s the rush?’

‘Why wait?’

‘Maybe we don’t know each other well enough yet,’ I say.

‘What the fuck are you talking about?’

Anxiety hits my stomach.

I know the signs of his mood swings by now. And I become a child again, desperate to keep the peace.

‘Please, Olly, I didn’t mean it like that. I love you. Of course we’ll get married one day.’

This is what I used to do when my parents fought. Do anything to make it okay, forget myself, humiliate myself. Anything to stop the ugliness growing. And then one day my dad met someone else and left. It was all for nothing. So why do I feel compelled to carry on the same behaviour?

‘If you don’t want to be with me, just say so,’ Olly snaps. ‘Because I think you either know or you don’t. And if you’re not sure, then that means no. Call it a day.’

I clasp his hand, scared of losing him to the other, angry person. ‘I didn’t mean that. It’s just, your leg is still broken.’ I try for a laugh. ‘I don’t want our wedding photos to be spoiled by that big multi-coloured plaster.’

Olly looks at me for a minute, then he laughs too. ‘Is that why you said no? Just because of the wedding photos? What is it with women and photos?’

We laugh together then, and everything feels okay.

I’ve done it.

I’ve averted disaster.

Just like I used to do with Mum.

I catch a glimpse of my bare back in the mirror. ‘Could you do up these buttons?’ I ask.

Olly does.

My breasts feel tender, I realise. Sore. We’ve never been careful, Olly and I. Not really. So often caught in the heat of the moment. Suddenly I have such a strong feeling.

Oh God.

What if I’m pregnant?

Ruth

Iwas supposed to meet Kaitlyn for tea this afternoon, but I cancelled.

‘I visited Elizabeth this morning,’ I told her, with a gay little laugh. ‘And my daughter needs to make a good impression with the other mothers. She’s in desperate need of home-wares. I’m staying in town to do a bit of shopping. Can we reschedule?’

Sometimes, I despair of Elizabeth.

Tatty old furniture, mismatched curtains and nothing on the mantelpiece. Tom’s started at an outstanding school and she’s a single mother. What will the other parents think?

‘Don’t wear yourself out,’ said Kaitlyn. ‘Your daughter needs to stand on her own two feet.’

Kaitlyn is one of the few friends who understands just how unlucky I’ve been with Elizabeth. Other mothers have children who take them to lunch. Elizabeth doesn’t think about me at all.