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Creative Director of A & G Design & Advertising and my one-time boss till I gave birth, dropped out of the rat race and went freelance from home (a somewhat hit and miss affair. Note for other mothers considering same: do not leave the stills for your company’s newest account on the floor when potty-training), suggested I come along and swell the numbers and quaff the free champagne.
    It was me who asked if Daniel could come too, since he’d been complaining that he’d hardly seen anything of me all week and I thought we could have a nice evening out afterwards.
    And there she was – Emily – putting the finishing touches to her Pie Tower, a massive golden structure of interlocking pastry mounds, a veritable triumph of cold-water crust, doing creative things with highly-polished tomatoes and sprigs of colour-enhanced parsley.
    Daniel walked over there and I heard him quite distinctly giving that deep-throated chuckle someone once told him was sexy (it might have been me – bastard!) and saying what a turn-on it was to see a woman in a pinny and high heels. And she – instead of slapping him, like any self-respecting post-feminist – simpered. She shouldn’t have been wearing heels anyway. What about Health and Safety?
    â€˜You’re not listening!’ said Charlotte loudly.
    â€˜I am,’ I said, guiltily, realising I was holding two custard creams.
    â€˜What did I say then?’
    â€˜I have no idea.’
    â€˜What are you doing tonight?
    â€˜Sleeping.’
    â€˜No, you’re not – you’re coming out for a drink.
    â€˜I’ve got too much work on.’
    That’s what Daniel said, from then on. Too much work on to go out with me, or come home on time. So much work on that he suddenly had a whole lot of calls on his mobile that necessitated him going into another room, and texts like you wouldn’t believe! Every time I looked at him he was fiddling with that phone – I picked it up once, when it beeped, just to see what he’d do. Haven’t seen him move so fast since we went to Egypt and he insisted on eating the salad.
    â€˜Work,’ he said, ‘so much damn work.’ Did he think I was totally stupid? Daniel is an inspector at the tax office in Maidstone. In 14 years of marriage I’ve never known him work past six. It’s nine to five with an occasional bit of report-writing in the evenings, so he can knock off at four instead. The whole point of the civil service is that they work to rule.
    I did enquire, of course. He looked furtive. ‘A big inspection coming up,’ he said vaguely. ‘An investigation to prepare. A seminar on evaluating assets …’ Turned out the sort of assets he was evaluating were spread-eagled in a flat in Tunbridge Wells being willingly given up to an in-depth inspection during his flexi-time.
    â€˜He’s old enough to be her father,’ I said indignantly, reaching for another biscuit.
    â€˜Becky’s on a sleepover,’ Charlotte said, ignoring me. ‘Though God knows why they call it that. The last time she had one at our place they were still on Facebook at 4 a.m. And Roger and Joe will be glued to the football. So I’ve told them I’m hitting the town. With you.’
    I shook my head. ‘I really don’t fancy going out. I’m uptight, bloated, fat, ugly, and bad-tempered with deadlines coming out of my ears and the washing to do.’
    â€˜You’re always like that.’
    â€˜And I’ve got to get some shopping in tonight – those biscuits are the only food in the house.’
    â€˜We’ll eat in the wine bar.’
    â€˜There’s something on TV.’
    â€˜Video it. I’ll see you at Green’s at 8 p.m.’
    â€˜I’m tired.’
    Charlotte stood up. ‘‘You’re boring me now, love.’
    I am boring myself.

Chapter Two
    Charlotte likes Greens Wine Bar because