I stare at the back of the closed front door for what could be five seconds, five minutes, or five hours; I have no idea. It feels like a long time. I would say that a quiet hush has descended on the house in however long it’s been since Jacob left, but that would be a lie. The truth is that a quietness has been present for a while now in the house, hanging around like an unwanted scent, trying to make its point. We have been like ships that passed in the night for months, Jacob and I, more like housemates than lovers, and in my heart I knew that the end was coming. I guess we both did.

It still feels sad, though, the end of something that at one time was good, even if the split and Jacob’s decision to move out were both very amicable. Four years of my life are now just a part of my past and Jacob will slide into the category of ‘someone that I used to know’.

It’s strange how someone who once seemed so close is now so distant and will soon become a stranger. I could have argued the point when Jacob said it was over: I do still love him, just not in the same way that I once did. But I didn’t argue with him. Instead, I offered to move into the spare room (of my own house) so that he could remain in some sort of comfort while he found somewhere else to live. In the meantime, I spent my evenings tossing and turning on the world’s most uncomfortable sofa bed without a murmur of complaint.

But that’s me all over – amicable, easy-going, never wanting to make a fuss, never doing anything that could even remotely be classed as spontaneous, let alone potentially dangerous or possibly adventurous. I’ve spent my entire thirty-one years of living on this planet doing the right thing, being sensible, never stepping out of line, doing what was expected of me, and right now, as I sit and stare at the closed front door, contemplating my future alone, being sensible feels like the most stupid decision I’ve ever made.

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‘Are you sure that you’re completely okay?’ Gemma, my best friend throughout my whole life, tips her head to one side and looks at me with what I perceive to be a mixture of concern and maybe a hint of pity.

I roll my eyes. ‘For the hundredth time, yes, I’m fine.’

‘See, when you say “fine”, Kiera, do you actually mean fine? Because I’ve used the word “fine” in the past to mean something else entirely.’

‘Gemma.’

‘Yes?’

‘Shut up and drink your non-alcoholic fizz.’

She sticks her tongue out at me and takes a swig before grimacing. ‘Urgh, how much longer until I can have a proper alcoholic drink again?’

‘I’m guessing it might be a while. My second godchild doesn’t look like it’s going to make an appearance anytime soon, thankfully.’

‘Ninety-two days and counting.’ Gemma smiles and instinctively rubs her growing stomach.

I take a large sip of my red wine: full bodied and, more importantly, with the alcohol still intact.

‘It’s just that I kind of saw you and Jacob going the distance,’ Gemma says. ‘You were in love, and compatible, and both enjoyed the same things in life.’

‘We did, we were, and I thought we would stand the test of time too, but I guess it just wasn’t meant to be. Not everyone gets the full-on romance movie like you and Tom.’

‘Full-on romance?’ she snorts. ‘I don’t know about that.’

‘Says the woman pregnant with his second child. How did that come about then? An immaculate conception?’

‘Point taken.’

I twirl the stem of my wine glass in my hand.

‘So, what happens now?’ Gemma asks.

I contemplate this question for a minute and then down the rest of my wine before exhaling. ‘I continue to live my life…and maybe turn the bathroom into a home spa.’

‘And I will create you a fabulous online dating profile.’

I give Gemma a stern stare. ‘You will do no such thing.’