‘Well. She certainly got her comeuppance, didn’t she? Got her thieving little fingers rapped. Shall we do a spot of prison visiting? Take her a photo of Phil?’

‘I’d rather not,’ I said hastily.

‘She could, though, couldn’t she?’

‘Go to prison? I’ve no idea.’

‘She bloody should,’ Jennie said with feeling. ‘Or at least community service. God, I’d love to see her sweeping the streets in a fluorescent yellow jacket. She probably thought she was invincible. People do, you know, when they’ve got away with something for ages, whether it’s nicking people’s husbands or nicking money – probably thought she’d never get caught.’ Her face fell suddenly. ‘Oh. Poor Simon.’

‘I know.’

She picked up a wooden spoon and stirred the yellow corn, reflective. ‘Funny. A couple of months ago he was all I could think about. Every waking moment. I used to drive past his house at night, take Leila to his bit of the common for a walk, Google him constantly – I could practically recite his website. I had the most almighty crush, Poppy. But now, especially with all this Frankie business, I look back in wonder. Think: who was that woman checking her phone for texts every five minutes, going dog-walking in full slap in case she should bump into him, who was she? I don’t recognize her at all. And after what you’ve told me I certainly don’t think: oh, good, he might be free again.’

‘Don’t you?’ I was intrigued. ‘Not even a bit?’

She regarded me, astonished. ‘Not even a tiny bit. Not for one fraction of a second. Honest to God, Poppy, I’m embarrassed by her. Constantly licking lipstick off her teeth, buying new bras and pretending it was time to ditch the old M&S ones – I was in danger of making a fool of myself. And I’m genuinely sad for Simon. Wish his life wasn’t like it is right now. But in the long run, he’s better off without her. Perhaps it’s as well it happened now?’

‘You mean, rather than further down the line with children.’ Like me, I thought.

‘Exactly.’ She sighed and we were silent a moment, Jennie watching opaquely as I shared out the sausages between two plates, spooned the veg. Suddenly she came to. ‘Anyway, I’ve got other things to worry about without wondering if Simon will be waiting at the prison gates for her. Here, darling.’ She seized the ketchup bottle and shook some out for Clemmie, who, hungry and fit to combust, was climbing into her chair. ‘Yes, I’ve got other fish to fry,’ Jennie said with a sudden grin. ‘I’m off to enquire of my hardly-spring-chicken friends, whether, when they popped in for coffee the other day, either of them also popped upstairs to use a pregnancy test that was sitting in the bathroom cabinet.’ She snorted with derision. ‘As if.’

I shrugged. ‘I agree, it’s a long shot.’ I frowned as I helped Archie into his highchair and sat beside him. ‘Sitting in your cabinet?’

‘What?’

‘The test?’

‘Oh. Yes, it was mine. You get two in a pack these days and I’d used the other one ages ago when I’d had a nasty shock and was late. Why?’

‘I dunno. I just didn’t know that.’

She made to leave and it occurred to me, as I blew on the bit of sausage I’d speared for Archie, that I hadn’t told her about Sam. Being married to Hope. Well, there’d been so much else to divulge. But I could have slipped it in, couldn’t I? She’d have been intrigued. Why hadn’t I? I wondered if I was being protective. After all, Sam hadn’t broadcast it around the village – nor had Hope for that matter, although perhaps for more obvious reasons – so neither would I. But neither had I told her something else that was bothering me. About Luke.

Archie gave an impatient squawk, mouth wide, and I hurriedly shovelled in the sausage.

Coincidentally I ran into both of my friends later on. First Peggy, as the children and I sat on the bench by the pond feeding the ducks, and she passed on her way to the shop. She was looking pleased as punch and rather exotic too, a purple beaded velvet coat over her jeans and pixie boots, dangly silver earrings swinging.

‘I say, guess what, darling,’ she drawled, perching beside me on the bench and lighting a cigarette. She crossed her skinny legs. ‘Jennie came to ask me if I was preggers. Do admit.’ She flashed amused, sparkling eyes and puffed hard. ‘Wish I’d said yes. Wish I’d said: yes, and the father of my unborn child is Charles Dance and we’re going to keep it. Charles and I are thrilled. We just popped into your house to do the test – he kept KV downstairs – and when I shrieked down the good news, he ran up two at a time and we couldn’t resist nipping into your bedroom for another frenzied bout of love-making to celebrate. Had the most spine-shattering sex in your bed, hope you don’t mind?’

I giggled as she rolled her eyes expressively.

‘What planet is she on?’ she said incredulously.

‘She’s just being thorough, Peggy. It was my idea, anyway, to ask whoever had been in the house. She thought it was Frankie’s.’

‘Course it’s not Frankie’s; what teenage girl would do a preggy test and drop it in her mother’s waste-paper basket? Even if it is wrapped in loo paper? Do me a favour.’

‘I suppose not,’ I said feeling rather stupid. And guilty too. I’d been quick to point the finger. Poor Frankie.

‘Anyway, I’m thrilled to bits she thought it was me. That’s really put a spring in my step. Thank goodness the book club’s up and running again. You missed the last one of course; it was quite a laugh. Although I have to say, Angus abandoning ship in a vest and braces did precisely nothing for me.’ She shuddered. ‘Perhaps we’ll drop the theme element,’ she mused. ‘Why is it the thought of these men is always so much nicer than the reality?’ She narrowed her eyes into the distance and inhaled pensively on her Marlboro Light. Clemmie was staring up at her, intrigued.

‘How many do you smoke a day, Peggy?’ she asked.

‘As many as possible, darling,’ Peggy replied, smiling down. She took a bit of bread from Clemmie’s bag and tossed it to a duck.

‘I say, what about adding a bit of new blood?’ she said abruptly. ‘To the book club? There’s a rather attractive widower just moved into the rectory in the next village and I saw him browsing in Waterstones the other day. D’you think he might be up for a bit of Jodi Picault of a Tuesday?’

‘I’ve no idea. You’re still going ahead with it, then, are you? Without the Armitages?’ I said nervously.

‘Well, they can come if they like but they need to know we won’t be reading Chekhov,’ Peggy said archly. Suddenly she stiffened, her face alert. ‘Ten to ten,’ she hissed.

I frowned. ‘For the book club? Isn’t that rather late?’

‘No, attractive widower, ten to ten.’ Peggy’s late husband had been in the RAF. ‘Covert, Poppy, covert,’ she muttered as I turned to stare at a rather donnish-looking gent in a worn corduroy jacket, who’d come into view down the hill, a Jack Russell on a lead trotting beside him. They made for the shop. ‘With his dog again,’ Peggy observed, as he tied the terrier up outside, ‘which he’ll take back via the woods for a run. See you later, Poppy.’ She stubbed out her cigarette in the little ashtray she kept in her bag and snapped it shut. Her mouth twitched. ‘I’m off to borrow Leila.’ And with that she sauntered across the road in the direction of Jennie’s house, velvet coat floating behind her.

Angie, however, wasn’t so thrilled when she banged on my door that evening. I’d been taking things at something of a canter, keen as I was to get the children bathed and into bed, thereby giving myself plenty of time to sink into my own bath and prepare for my date tonight. My date. My heart lurched and fingers fluttered as I cut up the soldiers for the boiled eggs, but not in the right way, I realized. Not in a pitter-patter nervous-excitement way, in more of a … well, plain nervous way, actually. But perhaps that was normal? After all, it was years since I’d been out with anyone and I had rather set the tone for this one by kissing Luke firmly on the lips and telling him I’d be happy to come to his place. Had rather shown my hand. Still. That didn’t necessarily mean tonight had to be anything other than a very pleasant meal, did it? Of course not. And Luke was a nice guy; there was no way he’d be expecting anything else, surely? I recalled Luke’s eyes, bright with possibility at what he’d perceived to be very much the green light from me, and promptly dropped Archie’s egg cup. As I picked up the shattered pieces of china I decided I needed to calm down. I also decided that I wouldn’t drink too much, but that I would, after all, shave my legs.

Which was why it was not terribly convenient when Angie banged on my door at about seven o’clock. So hard I jumped out of the bath and ran downstairs to answer it with wet hair and bleach cream on my upper lip.

‘Clearly you both think I’m a complete tart!’ she stormed, pushing past me in the doorway, not even commenting on my moustache, and making for the kitchen.

She opened the fridge door and seized a bottle of white wine although she’d patently had most of one already; her eyes were pink and glassy, always Angie’s giveaway. I hastened after her in my dressing gown, wiping off the bleach as I went, knowing instantly what she meant.

‘No, of course we don’t, Angie,’ I urged, thinking this really couldn’t be more inconvenient as she hunted down a couple of glasses in my cupboard and poured two hefty slugs of Chardonnay.

‘You obviously think that just because I had a teensy crush on Pete, I’m hopping into bed with all and sundry and getting knocked up in the process. Flinging pregnancy tests over my shoulder as I go!’

Oh, Lord. Furious. Livid, in fact. All my fault. ‘No one’s saying that, Angie. It’s just that for Frankie’s sake we thought –’

‘I mean, who did you think it was, hm?’ Her eyes blazed at me as she sank a good two inches of wine in one gulp. ‘Bonkers Bob, perhaps? Did you think I’d wrestled him out of his raincoat and got down to it in his revolting farmhouse? Or maybe his sidekick, Frank? Perhaps you thought I couldn’t resist the twirling moustache and had a burning desire to see him naked but for his dandruff?’

‘Don’t be silly. It’s just we had to discount anyone who’d been in Jennie’s house, that’s all. And who was young enough’ – I added toadily, hoping she didn’t know Peggy had also been accused – ‘to, you know, get pregnant.’

This mollified her slightly. She pulled out a chair at my table and slumped into it, looking alarmingly permanent. ‘Hm, well,’ she grunted, knocking back another hefty slug and refilling her glass. ‘Yes, of course I could still get pregnant, I’m not that ancient. But I’m not seeing anyone, you know.’

She looked more shattered than angry now. Her face soft and vulnerable beneath her make-up.

‘I know, I know,’ I said soothingly, sitting down beside her.

‘It’s not even as if I’m dating.’

‘Well, quite. Stupid of us.’

‘And anyway, I still love Tom.’

I didn’t say anything; sat very still. This was quite an admission. Usually she hated Tom. She seemed unaware of me, though. Stared into space.

‘You know he’s on his own again?’ she said at length, more to the wall than to me.

‘No, I didn’t know that. Since when?’

‘Since Tatiana went back to New Zealand. Wants to pursue her dangerous sports, apparently. As if nicking my husband wasn’t enough of one.’

‘So … is there hope?’

‘That’s exactly what I wondered,’ she said sadly, ‘when Clarissa told me. Said Daddy was on his own. I thought: perhaps there’s hope? And then I ran into Bella Stewart, who’d sat next to him at a dinner party last week, and in his cups he’d told her he’d been a stupid arse. So, silly tart that I am, d’you know what I did?’

‘What,’ I said, guessing.

‘I rang him. And left a message on his answering machine which I hadn’t thought out beforehand. A long, breathless one about how maybe we could be civilized for the children and maybe he could pop round for supper sometime. And then right at the end –’ she gulped and her eyes filled – ‘I – said I missed him.’