Five days, three tubs of chocolate ice cream, six bottles of wine and a family-sized pizza later, I was starting to accept that Jamie Dawson, love of my life and keeper of my heart, was married to someone who wasn’t me.

I was starting to thank holy fuck that I wasn’t alone in this epic journey back into full body heartbreak. Elle had stayed by my side; she’d cradled my shaking body into hers through the nights when I’d sobbed and swore my way through the darkness, and again during the days when I’d retreated into silence.

‘You know, your fridge is a health hazard. Quite frankly, I’m shocked at the amount of out of date probiotic yoghurt. You know, it won’t calm the bad bacteria in your gut; it will only add to it, and probably impregnate and triple in size overnight, and then you’re just asking for a lifetime of misery caused by the cramps of irritable bowel.’ Elle’s mum, Linda, often visited towards the end of the month. I’d caught on that she was inspecting the contents of the cupboards and fridge and bringing food to stretch us out until payday.

I was in no mood for pleasantries, which I made clear by storming over to the plastic yoghurt pots still wrapped in their cardboard sleeve and dropping them into the bin with a thud.

‘What’s with you, Abi Dhabi’? Linda asked as I slumped back down at the kitchen table. ‘That was some passive aggressive yoghurt slinging.’

‘I’m over yoghurt. I’m in need of gin,’ I said moodily. ‘You don't happen to have a bottle of Bailey’s in your bag, do you? We could crack open the ice cream and pour it on as a topping; kill two birds with one stone.’

‘It’s a man, isn’t it?’ Linda said, bracing herself. ‘What’s happened?’

‘Not any man, Mum. The man,’ Elle said as she walked through from the bedroom and pulled a bottle of wine from the back of a cupboard.

‘What?’ she asked as she clocked my raised eyebrow.

‘He’s back? Jamie the pen pal who doesn’t write? Jamie the hunk in chinos?’ Linda asked.

‘Mum, you only met him once. Don’t label him with chinos,’ Elle muttered, giving me a tight smile.

‘He does wear them a lot,’ I shrugged lazily.

‘Focus, girls. Push the chinos to one side,’ Linda said as she shut the freezer door with her hip.

‘I'm trying to; believe me,’ I sighed.

There was a loud knock on the door. Elle skipped over to open it. There stood my mother with a bottle of cheap wine and a plastic shopping bag that looked like it contained a large bag of ice cubes.

‘Hiya, baby girl,’ she said as she lifted both arms, forcing the bag down the crook of her elbow and swinging it side to side. ‘Happy moving in!’

‘Mum, you do realise she’s been here months now?’ I said, trying hard to lift my head from the table.

‘I know, I know. Sorry. I’ve been meaning to come round but life just gets in the way.’

‘Is that what you’re calling him now?’

‘She think’s she’s so funny, doesn’t she? Hi, Linda. Didn’t see you there,’ she said on a wave as Linda cleared out the mush that was once salad from the bottom of the fridge.

‘Hi, Michelle, you’re looking good,’ Linda said, blowing into her fringe to stop what appeared to be a hot flush.

‘Oh, stop. I look like an older version of the hot young thing I used to be. It’s crept up on me, Linda. I’m not going to lie.’

‘Can you tell your wardrobe?’ I snarked. Mum hated getting older. When she turned forty, she announced that she was going to start counting backwards with every future birthday, so she was now a very unconvincing twenty-seven.

‘What’s wrong with this?’ she asked.

‘Denim skirts and vest tops do not a style queen make,’ I replied.

‘I took this out of your wardrobe, Abi Sinclair.’ And—fucking hell—she had.

‘You make my clothes look cheap.’

‘You can have it back, Donatella.’

Elle and Linda were pretending to read the free paper we usually threw straight in the recycling bin. ‘Isn’t she like me, Linda?’ Mum laughed. ‘My pride and fucking joy.’ She held my chin in her fingers and shook it. ‘She gets her fire from me, as well as the good looks to make anyone forgive that bloody fire.’ She pulled me towards her, her red nails digging into my skin. ‘Elle, doesn’t she look like me? Don’t you think?’

‘I don’t look like anyone. I look like me,’ I replied firmly.

‘Here, I've made some fairy cakes. Tuck in.’ Linda flustered around opening a Tupperware box that contained enough fairy cakes to feed everybody in the entire block of flats. ‘Have some sugar, Michelle,’ she said, holding out the box to her like a peace offering between us.

‘How ironic that here we are, fully grown adults no longer planning our birthday parties with gusto and yet we’re still eating fairy cakes,’ Elle said, laughing too loudly for it to be genuine.

‘Hey, have some respect for your mother. You still seeing Ben?’ Mum asked. Elle replied with a nod. ‘Well, if you’re so worried about it being a cake only worthy of a child’s party that probably took your mum all bloody afternoon to make, I suggest you sit it on the tip of Ben's cock to make it more appealing and suck it down in one breath.’ Her frown turned into roaring laughter as she threw her head back and pulled Elle towards her in something of a headlock. Elle choked on her cake, and her mum looked like she was almost at the point of passing out. Mum had dropped those words like a brick and successfully rendered Linda speechless. For someone who always knew what to say in any given situation, that was a pretty impressive achievement.

‘I’m rarely without words. I can count the times I’ve struggled for something to say on two fingers. I’m now adding a third,’ Linda said flatly as she stared into the distance.

‘It’s a joke. Come on, Linda. We have to accept our girls are having sex. I accepted it long ago, offered the use of my condom stash under the bathroom sink and wished her great fucking sex.’

‘OK, I’m done. I need to lie down in a dark room,’ I said, collecting the wine bottle from Elle’s hand. I kissed Mum on the cheek and pushed her by her shoulders towards the door. ‘I’m off to bed, Mum.’

It was time to be alone and stare the truth in the face even though it threatened to break me with even a whisper of the word.

Married.

Why hadn’t I suspected that before? Maybe I had but it was just too frightening to give any space to.

My bed was the only place I wanted to be. The sheepskin topper and thick duvet hugged my body warmly. I started to wonder about the reality of working from home permanently, but then I remembered I would need to ask permission from the man that had just stuck a knife in my heart. Ignoring him at the office seemed a better option.

A soft knock on my bedroom door broke my comfort.

‘Come in,’ I said as I turned onto my side.

‘I thought you’d want this.’ Elle held up a corkscrew and threw it onto the floor next to the bottle that remained untouched. ‘Scoot up. I need to escape our mothers. I’ve left them with Ben, so if that doesn’t show how much he loves me, I don’t know what will,’ she smiled as she climbed onto the bed and put her arm around my waist. ‘How are you doing?’

‘We like to cause scenes outside nightclubs, don’t we?’ I said.

‘It’s becoming a theme.’

‘I keep thinking of random stuff. I’m trying to put the timeline together of when it could have happened and when they would have met, but I’m just going round in circles.’

‘You can’t do that, Abi. Only he knows what happened, and he owes you the truth.’

‘I’m not sure I want to hear it.’ I felt her arm tighten around me on my words. ‘I keep replaying things. Memories. Things he said to me. I still can’t believe it. Was everything we had all lies?’

‘Abi, I saw the two of you together. He didn’t fake anything,’ she replied as she tucked my hair behind my ear.

I settled into her words and welcomed her playing with my hair, finally relaxing me to sleep.