It started with a row about the invitation. Marsaili and I don’t have any secrets, so, unsurprisingly, the first time I kept one, it swirled into a cyclone that I couldn’t control. I hid the invitation, neatly decorated with both of our names, at the bottom of the recycling, hoping that I could wish it…

Barbara Lawrence took the same bus into town every Wednesday. She got on the same stop, by the housing development that had been in progress for as long as she could remember. She picked up the same bits and pieces from Sainsbury’s. A pint of milk, half a loaf of bread and some bits to…