‘It all helps, right?’ she had said. A smile, a blush and a palm tracing the sphere of her belly. Now, she trudges back towards the High Street, breathing hard, feeling the sweat gathering on her neck and in the small of her back, in the creases behind her knees. Nylon sticking to her. There isn’t a chance she’ll walk off so much as a pound, not after all the mayo she’d slathered across that tasteless salad, but she might walk off a little of the envy. She can feel it cool and begin to disperse in her chest, step by agonising step. Embracing Diana on the doorstep, Caroline had sucked in what felt like a mouthful of something sickly that probably cost as much per designer bottle as she earned in a day. A week, maybe. Those stupid pedigree dogs still yapping outside as they said their goodbyes. That house, which Diana had copped for simply because her old man had found a younger model. All that bitterness, the tedious ranting about the woman who had stolen her beloved away and it wasn’t like she’d married him for his good looks in the first place, was it?
