Page 114 of Who’s That Girl?

At the other end of the bench, the old lady is regarding me with a slightly bemused expression.

‘Like I said, it’s complicated.’ I shrug defeatedly.

But she just smiles and, leaning across, pats my arm reassuringly. ‘Life isn’t complicated. It’s very simple, really. It’s us who make it complicated.’

I decide not to go back to the office. I just can’t face it. Instead I make a quick call to Beatrice to let her know I’ll be working from home for the rest of the afternoon and drive back to my flat. Still, at this rate, at least things can’t get any worse, I console myself, as I sit in traffic along Holland Park Avenue staring at the parking ticket stuffed underneath my wipers.

The shrill ring of my mobile causes me to hold that thought as I put in my earpiece.

‘Hi, Charlotte, it’s me.’

Oh fuck, they just did.

It’s Vanessa.

A hand grips my stomach. With everything that’s been happening today I’d forgotten all about Julian, and my conversation this morning with Beatrice, but now it comes hurtling back.

‘Hey, Vanessa, how are you?’ I say evenly, forcing myself to sound as normal as possible. That classic moral dilemma is whizzing round in my head: ‘If you found out your friend’s boyfriend was cheating, would you tell her?’ I always used to be the first to reply, ‘Yes, absolutely,’ with the easy defiance of a twentysomething. Of course you’d tell your friend. It was a no-brainer. But now the stakes are higher. Now you’re sharing more than just a cheese plant, takeout pizzas and a futon. Now it’s children, a home, a life together.

‘Not great,’ she says.

Oh God, she knows. I can tell from her voice. For a split second I feel a flush of relief that I don’t have to lie, but it’s drowned out by dread.

‘Why? What’s up?’ I try to keep my voice steady.

There’s a pause, and then, ‘I found a receipt.’

You wouldn’t think those four words could have such an effect on me, could make my stomach hurtle into my sling-backs and my hands grip the steering wheel, but they do.

‘What kind of receipt?’ I’m filled with trepidation. Whatever it is, it’s not good. I mean, your best friend doesn’t ring you up to tell you she’s found a receipt from Tesco, now, does she?

‘It’s from an expensive lingerie boutique.’

First the condoms, then the suite at the hotel and now this? My heart sinks, but I quickly rally. OK, let’s think damage limitation. I have to put a positive spin on this, and if anyone can do it, I can. A career in PR has to be useful for something.

‘Ooh, lucky you,’ I gush, with about as much faux enthusiasm as I can muster. ‘Julian must have bought you some sexy underwear as a surprise.’

‘Yeah, right,’ tuts Vanessa. Something tells me she isn’t exactly convinced. ‘In two sizes smaller than I really am?’

‘Maybe he got it wrong?’ I argue. ‘Men are useless about stuff like that. Miles always thought I was a size ten.’

‘You are a size ten, Charlotte.’

‘Oh, right, yes … well, you know what I mean,’ I say vaguely.

Only I don’t think she does, as there’s silence. ‘Sorry, I know you must be really busy. I’ll go.’

‘No, it’s fine, don’t be silly,’ I say quickly.

‘Really? Are you sure?’ She sounds so grateful I feel a twinge of guilt. God, am I always that busy with work that she thinks I won’t be able to talk at a time like this?

‘Of course. What’s more important than my best friend, hey?’

No sooner have those words come out of my mouth than my other phone starts ringing. It’s Beatrice, but I ignore it.

‘I just don’t know what to do.’ She sighs. She sounds upset and I’m suddenly reminded of her at the club, queueing at the ladies, gushing happily about how much she was in love with Julian. It makes me wonder how she got to this place, all these years later, where she’s on the phone to me, worried he’s having an affair.

‘Why don’t you ask him about it?’ I suggest. ‘Be honest?’