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sailing,’ I said. It was the fact that she’d said she envied me, the fact that she seemed to have suffered so much tragedy herself that made me feel I should underplay my own happiness. I felt guilty for being okay and so as a result I was far more open than I would otherwise have been – even, perhaps, overplaying my insecurities. ‘We went through quite a rough patch after Laura left home. I think I’d been so focussed on her that I’d neglected our marriage.’
    ‘Really?’ Her face was a picture of sympathy, so I went on, foolishly.
    ‘It worries me sometimes with Dan, you know, involved in such a glamorous world of creative people, copywriters, shoots, models,
photographers . . . and then there’s plain old me.’ I laughed. ‘He tells me off for putting myself down.’
    ‘He’s right. It’s a shallow world. I’m sure you and the home you provide are far more important to him. How did you meet?’
    ‘We were both in London. He did uni, but I didn’t. I just did suitable jobs for a young girl – the usual, secretarial stuff. We met through a friend’s brother. I had assumed he fancied my friend, and do you know, to this day, I honestly think he did. But she knew how much I liked him and she wasn’t that fussed, so she left the way clear. I suppose I always felt amazed that Dan should have chosen to marry me. That’s the thing about Dan. He’s got this craving for the sophisticated creative stuff, the nice cars and the designer labels, but then there’s his working-class background and his lovely down-to-earth mum . . . So he’s a bit of a social chameleon, the original champagne socialist. Balsamic vinegar on his fish and chips.’
    She laughed. ‘So both Dan and Laura are in Birmingham. That must be lovely for them. He must get to see lots of her – more than you do, I imagine.’
    ‘Dan always seems to be flat out with work, meetings and things, but sometimes I’ll go up and meet them for a concert, or something. We’re lucky, really, that she’s so close.’
    ‘Oh my God, what is that woman wearing?’
    ‘Which woman?’
    ‘The one with the orange hat and peacock feather . . . what does she look like?’
    I giggled. ‘A little jaunty, isn’t it?’
    ‘Definitely. Do you think she spent hours getting ready? What can have gone through her mind? They all look so wonderfully eccentric, don’t they, like they’ve stepped out of the wrong end of the
1950s? I can almost smell the camphor. I do wonder if I’m actually allergic to old people –’
    ‘Ellie!’ I laughed. ‘Shush, they’ll hear.’
    ‘Don’t be silly, of course they can’t hear us, they’re probably all deaf.’
    ‘We’ll get thrown off the bus for bad behaviour.’
    ‘Sorry. I promise to take it all much more seriously and to behave myself from now on.’
    ‘No, no, it’s fine. Honestly. I just wouldn’t want to hurt their feelings. They’re a sweet bunch.’
    ‘You must excuse me. I’m afraid all this,’ she said, with a wave of her hand, ‘is rather alien to me. You’ll have to make allowances for my lack of country sensibility.’
    I was surprised at how defensive she sounded. It wasn’t that big a deal. ‘Don’t be silly, it’s fine,’ I said. ‘Forget it. I’m sure they didn’t hear. Just me being over-sensitive.’
    We fell into an uncomfortable silence but thankfully we soon arrived at our first destination, and I could mask my discomfort as we filed off the coach. We were swept along by the tour organizer towards coffee and home-made shortbread on the terrace, followed by an hour-long guided tour of the garden. I’d turned off my mobile, but Ellie’s rang about four times – she even answered it while our host was in mid-flow about how she’d dealt with her box blight. I wanted the earth to open up and swallow me when she said, without any attempt to lower her voice: ‘Darling, you’ll never guess . . . I’m going round a garden . . . Yes, a bloody garden for God’s sake. Can