The night before my wedding I heard my maid of honour through the hotel wall saying they'd pour wine on my dress and lose the rings. I recorded four minutes of it with my phone against the connecting door.

He decided it in a taxi. She decided it in a car. I decided it twice — once with a phone in a kitchen doorway and once with a note in my own hand in April.

Not one of us was being cruel. Every single one of us thought we were being kind.
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They told me one of my twins hadn't survived and I never saw her face. Six years later my daughter came home from her first day at school and asked me to pack a second lunchbox.

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I married a man I'd known three months so he wouldn't die alone, and a week later his solicitor handed me a frayed green rucksack. There were four hundred and nine index cards in it.

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