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the kids, you’ve worked for and you deserve.’
    The self-pitying tears were flowing freely now. She brushed them away with the heel of her hand. Hoping Ruby couldn’t hear the hiccoughs in her breathing. ‘I couldn’t bear for this to come between us in any way.’
    ‘That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.’
    ‘Why?’ The question came out on a tortured sob.
    ‘Well, for starters, you don’t want Cal. He’s far too uptight and bossy for you. His insistence on being right about everything would make you lose the will to live within a week.’
    ‘Cal’s not uptight and bossy. He’s lovely.’ Ella jumped in to defend Ruby’s husband, whom she adored, if only in a purely platonic sense—because he actually was a little bossy.
    ‘Only because he’s got me to unwind him on a regular basis, and boss him about back,’ Ruby replied. ‘But more to the point.’ Her voice sobered, the jokey tone gone. ‘You don’t want my kids, you want your own. And if I deserve my little treasures—not that Ally and Max were particularly treasurable this morning when they decided to declare World War Three on each other using their Weetabix as nuclear warheads—then you certainly do.’
    Do I?
    The question echoed in her head, but she didn’t voice it, Ruby’s passionate defence counteracting at least some of the guilt that had been haunting her for over a week.
    ‘You’re going to make an incredible mum one day,’ Ruby added with complete conviction. ‘And, if you have to, there are lots of possible ways of achieving that.’
    ‘How do you mean?’
    ‘You know, like artificial insemination, IVF, donor eggs, surrogacy, adoption, that sort of thing.’
    Ruby’s matter-of-fact response shrank a little of the black hole in her belly. She hadn’t considered any of those options yet, the prospect of infertility too shocking to get past. But why shouldn’t she? If the worst came to the worst and Myra’s diagnosis was correct?
    ‘I guess you’re right, I hadn’t really—’
    ‘But frankly,’ Ruby interrupted, ‘I think we’re getting the cart before the stallion here.’
    ‘Excuse me?’
    ‘Ella, your biggest problem when it comes to having a child of your own is not the possibility of a premature menopause. It’s the fact that every guy you’ve been out with since that tosser in college has been so mind-numbingly dull even I couldn’t be bothered to flirt with them.’
    Ella frowned, picturing the handful of guys she’d dated in the last decade. And realised that Ruby’s outrageous statement might not actually be all that far off the mark—because she couldn’t recall a single one of them with any degree of clarity.
    When had dating become such an effort? And sex such a chore?
    Was that why she’d had a rush of blood to the head at Cooper’s casual suggestion of a drink later? Flirting with him had been exciting, exhilarating, and yet she’d totally freaked out when he’d offered her the chance to take it further.
    What was that about? She was thirty-four, for goodness’ sake, not ninety.
    ‘The thing is, Ella,’ Ruby continued, ‘I know sexual chemistry isn’t everything in a relationship—and Randall the dickhead is a case in point.’
    Ella winced at hearing Randall’s name spoken aloud—a name they’d both avoided speaking for sixteen years. But the gaping wound her college boyfriend had caused—which she’d believed then would fester for the rest of her life—had scabbed over in the years since. Because the mention of his name didn’t hurt any more; it only made her feel ashamed, that she’d fallen for him so easily, mistaken a couple of really spectacular orgasms for love, and then let him bulldoze her into doing something she would later regret.
    ‘But sometimes chemistry can come in very handy, if you need a serious pick–me-up in the dating department,’ Ruby continued. ‘Which brings us right back to Captain Studly from your snorkel tour.’
    Didn’t it