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typical,’ Nancy complains. ‘I’m married to a misery guts. And you’re not much better either, Gilly,’ she adds, refusing to let me off the hook when she sees me giggle.
    ‘Sorry, Nancy, I probably will do something but . . .’
    ‘Listen Gilly, I know thirty-five is a difficult age, a sensitive age. Don’t get me wrong, I so felt that way too.’
    ‘It’s fine! I don’t feel weird about it.’
    ‘It must be hard being over thirty and single, especially in London,’ Nancy continues.
    I pick up my glass of wine and take a large sip, before excusing myself and going to the loo.
    ‘Gilly has plenty of time to meet someone,’ I overhear Nick say as I’m walking down the hallway, back towards the kitchen, ‘and after what Ed did, she’s bound to want to be careful.’
    I stand behind the door.
    ‘What you don’t understand Nicholas . . .’
    ‘Keep your voice down,’ he warns her.
    ‘. . . is that it’s hard for women. Our biological clocks keep on ticking. If she leaves it too late . . .’
    I rush upstairs. In the safety of Nick’s study I sit down at his desk and breathe deeply. Don’t let her get to you, Gilly. Sometimes I could murder him for marrying someone like Nancy.
    When Nick first met her he couldn’t wait to introduce Dad and me to this wonderful, pretty, courageous woman, ‘who’s somehow fallen for me,’ he’d said laughing. It had been a whirlwind romance, Nick proposing after only two months. Before we met her, he warned us not to ask too much about Nancy’s family. She had left behind an alcoholic father and a useless mother who lived off benefits, to make a better life for herself in London, he’d said proudly, but she doesn’t like being reminded about it. They met at work. Nancy had been PA to one of the partners in Nick’s law firm. I wasn’t sure if I liked her, but I did admire her back then, as did my father. It was easy to see how Nick had fallen for Nancy too, with her long fair hair, wide mouth and deep blue eyes the colour of denim. She was pretty. I remember thinking she’d be the kind of woman every little girl dreams of turning into when she grows up.
    I overhear Nancy and Nick continuing to bicker downstairs. If anything they are an advertisement for why not to marry, but I wouldn’t be without their children. I love walking with the girls in the park at weekends and buying them ice creams. I smile, remembering Nick playing with them and calling, ‘Last one to me has to eat Brussels sprouts for tea!’
    I glance across to Nick’s laptop. I wonder if I’ve had any response to my Monday to Friday advert? While I’m here? I press a few keys.
    ‘Welcome, Gilly!’ the site tells me.
    ‘No need to welcome me,’ I mutter, waiting for my Monday to Friday password to be accepted.
    I stare at the screen. Am I imagining it?
    I must shriek because next thing I know, Nick is in the room, taking me into his arms. ‘I’m sorry, Gilly. Nancy can be so thoughtless.’
    ‘No!’ I pull away from him. ‘It’s fine. She’s right,’ I admit, ‘my clock is ticking . . . But look, Nicky!’
    Your house has had 55 VISITORS and 10 ENQUIRIES .
    ‘Shh!’ he says, though he smiles at my excitement.
    One of the girls starts to cry.
    ‘There there, darling,’ Nick says to Matilda, who’s sitting up in bed tearful at being woken up. He hands her the Cinderella flask. ‘Ten enquiries,’ he whispers, ‘that’s great!’
    ‘Auntie Gilly!’ Tilda cries and I press a finger to my lips, but nevertheless approach her bed to kiss her goodnight again. She has a soft round face and smells of sleep.
    ‘Where’s Ruskin?’ she asks. Tilda tells me she is going to marry him. ‘He’s in nod-nod land,’ I whisper.
    Hannah continues sleeping, sprawled diagonally across her mattress. Three years older, she loves playing the piano and cycling, though recently I’ve noticed how subdued she’s been. Lately all she’s wanted to do is watch television.
    Both are pretty, with