‘I think we should try talking maybe somewhere where … hurtful things can’t be said. Positive dialogue only.’

Behind the conversation I can feel the presence of Mum’s latest self-help book. It’s in the careful use of the passive voice, the measured tone, the positive dialogue and hurtful things. But when it makes me waver, when it makes me want to say, Yes, Mum, whatever would make you feel better, I think of the choice my mother helped Carla to make. How she let my sister choose to end treatment, to – to give up.

I’m not sure even the Derren Brown kind of hypnotherapy could help me deal with that.

‘I’ll think about it,’ I say. ‘Goodbye, Mum.’

‘Bye, Leena.’

Bee watches me across the table, letting me regroup. ‘OK?’ she says eventually. Bee’s been on the Upgo project with me for the last year – she’s seen me through every day since Carla died. She knows as much about my relationship with my mum as my boyfriend does, if not more – I only get to see Ethan at the weekends and the odd midweek evening if we can both get away from work on time, whereas Bee and I are together about sixteen hours a day.

I rub my eyes hard; my hands come away grainy with mascara. I must look an absolute state. ‘You were right. I shouldn’t have taken the call. I handled that all wrong.’

‘Sounded like you did pretty well to me,’ Bee says.

‘Please, talk to me about something else. Something that isn’t my family. Or work. Or anything else similarly disastrous. Tell me about your date last night.’

‘If you want non-disastrous, you’re going to need to pick another topic,’ Bee says, settling back in her chair.

‘Oh no, not good?’ I ask.

I’m blinking back tears, but Bee kindly ploughs on, pretending not to notice.

‘Nope. Odious. I knew it was a no as soon as he leaned in to kiss me on the cheek and all I could smell was the foisty, mouldy man-towel he must’ve used to wash his face.’

That works – it’s gross enough to startle me back to the present. ‘Eww,’ I say.

‘He had this massive globule of sleepy dust in the corner of his eye too. Like eye snot.’

‘Oh, Bee …’ I’m trying to find the right way to tell her to stop giving up on people so quickly, but my powers of pep-talking seem to have deserted me, and in any case, that towel thing really is quite disgusting.

‘I am on the brink of giving up and facing an eternity as a single mother,’ Bee says, trying to catch the waiter’s eye. ‘I’ve come to the decision that dating is genuinely worse than loneliness. At least when you’re alone there’s no hope, right?’

‘No hope?’

‘Yeah. No hope. Lovely. We all know where we stand – alone, as we entered the world, so we shall leave it, et cetera, et cetera … Whereas dating, dating is full of hope. In fact, dating is really one long, painful exercise in discovering how disappointing other humans are. Every time you start to believe you’ve found a good, kind man …’ She wiggles her fingers. ‘Out come the mummy issues and the fragile egos and the weird cheese fetishes.’

The waiter finally looks our way. ‘The usual?’ he calls across the café.

‘Yup! Extra syrup on her pancakes,’ Bee calls back, pointing at me.

‘Did you say cheese fetishes?’ I ask.

‘Let’s just say I’ve seen some photos that’ve really put me off brie.’

‘Brie?’ I say, horrified. ‘But – oh, God, brie is so delicious! How could anyone corrupt brie?’

Bee pats my hand. ‘I suspect you’ll never have to find out, my friend. In fact, yes, if I’m supposed to be cheering you up, why aren’t we talking about your ever-so-perfect love life? Surely the countdown’s on for Ethan to pop the question.’ She catches my expression. ‘No? Don’t want to talk about that either?’

‘I’ve just got …’ I flap my hand, eyes pricking again. ‘A big wave of the horror. Oh, God. Oh God, oh God.’

‘Which life crisis are you oh-godding about, just so I know?’ Bee asks.

‘Work.’ I press my knuckles against my eyes until it hurts. ‘I can’t believe they’re not staffing me for two whole months. It’s like a … like a mini firing.’

‘Actually,’ Bee says, and her tone makes me move my hands and open my eyes, ‘it’s a two-month holiday.’

‘Yes, but …’

‘Leena, I love you, and I know you’ve got a lot of shit going on right now, but please try to see that this could be a good thing? Because it’s going to be quite hard to continue loving you if you’re going to spend the next eight weeks complaining about getting two months’ paid leave.’

‘Oh, I …’

‘You could go to Bali! Or explore the Amazon rainforest! Or sail around the world!’ She raises her eyebrows. ‘Do you know what I’d give to have that kind of freedom?’

I swallow. ‘Yes. Right. Sorry, Bee.’

‘You’re all right. I know this is about more than time off work for you. Just spare a thought for those of us who spend our allotted holiday at dinosaur museums full of nine-year-olds, yeah?’

I breathe in and out slowly, trying to let that sink in. ‘Thank you,’ I say, as the waiter approaches our table. ‘I needed to hear that.’

Bee smiles at me, then looks down at her plate. ‘You know,’ she says casually, ‘you could use the time off to get back to our business plan.’

I wince. Bee and I have been planning on setting up our own consultancy firm for a couple of years – we were almost ready to go when Carla got sick. Now, things have kind of … stalled a little.

‘Yes!’ I say, as cheerily as I can manage. ‘Absolutely.’

Bee raises an eyebrow. I sag.

‘I’m so sorry, Bee. I want to, I really do, it just feels … impossible, now. How are we going to launch our own business when I’m finding it so hard just holding down my job at Selmount?’

Bee chews a mouthful of pancake and looks thoughtful. ‘OK,’ she says. ‘Your confidence has taken a hit lately, I get it. I can wait. But even if you don’t use this time to work on the business plan, you should use it to work on you. My Leena Cotton doesn’t talk about “holding down a job” like that’s the best she can do, and she definitely doesn’t use the word “impossible”. And I want my Leena Cotton back. So,’ she points her fork at me, ‘you’ve got two months to find her for me.’

‘And how am I doing that?’

Bee shrugs. ‘“Finding yourself” isn’t really my forte. I’m just doing strategy here – you’re on deliverables.’

That gets a laugh out of me. ‘Thank you, Bee,’ I say suddenly, reaching to clutch her hand. ‘You’re so great. Really. You’re phenomenal.’

‘Mmm, well. Tell that to the single men of London, my friend,’ she says, giving my hand a pat and then picking up her fork again.

2

Eileen

It’s been four lovely long months since my husband made off with the instructor from our dance class, and until this very moment I haven’t missed him once.