New beginnings can seem daunting, but are often disguised opportunities

Maybe I shouldn’t have flicked peach and mascarpone dessert at my husband. One look at Jim’s startled expression, the gooey cream mixture dripping from his nose, and I almost said sorry. But I was hopping mad with him and, pushing back my chair, I ran upstairs to pack.

It felt like a scene from an old black and white movie as I shoved my make-up bag, knickers and my favourite fleece into an overnight bag.

I heard the shower running and, without leaving a note, I pulled the front door shut behind me and escaped. In five minutes, I reached the prom. It was a miserable night. Waves crashed on to shingle and drizzle had turned to proper rain, so I decided to sit in the shelter while I planned my next move.

Nearly a month had passed since the twins had left for university. In the weeks before, I’d helped them shop for pots and duvets. I’d given them a crash course in cooking and cut out recipes for stews and soups from my magazines.

‘But Mum,’ Mark had said, ‘there’s the internet if we need to look up stuff…’ Then, seeing my face, he’d hugged me. Will added it would be more useful to teach them how to use a tin opener and a microwave, because they wouldn’t be doing much cooking.

How I missed their hugs and teasing. Strangely, I missed their mess, too: empty mugs, cereal bowls, wet towels and odd socks under their beds. I missed their friends popping in after school and their piles of scruffy shoes on the doormat.

‘Lads,’ I could hear myself nagging, ‘Tidy up! Dad will fall over them when he comes in.’

I missed the way our kitchen spilled over with their banter, their grazing in the fridge, hunting for snacks – ‘I’m starving, Mum…’ And their music, which I hadn’t always liked – I missed that, too. Since they’d been gone, once or twice

I’d switched from Radio 4 to Radio 1 to try to recapture the atmosphere. But it just wasn’t the same.

A few days after they’d left, I went to strip their beds and spring clean the bedroom they’d always shared. Will had taken his poster of the Ducati motorbike and there was an empty corner where Mark’s drum kit used to live. I sat on his bed and cried my eyes out at the passing of this phase.