There didn’t seem to be much to say to that. Jennie got up to refill the kettle noisily and banged it down with a clatter on her hob. She turned and leaned on the Aga, folding her arms and staring determinedly out of the window, gimlet-eyed. Angie sat up. Cleared her throat.

‘Well, if you’re not going to – you know – take it any further,’ she said, ‘do you mind if I do?’

Jennie and I turned slowly to stare at her. ‘What, with Simon!’ spluttered Jennie.

‘Well, as you say, he is rather nice. Much nicer than I thought, and not at all slimy when he loosens up; and I am single, Jennie. And since Peggy’s so set on Pete, who, frankly, was only a joke, some twenty-something farrier –’

‘You just said he was smooth!’

‘And as you so rightly say, nothing wrong with that.’

‘I think that’s a bit rich, Angie!’ Jennie snorted. ‘You can’t just cruise in and nick my – my, you know –’

‘What?’ demanded Angie.

‘My book-club partner,’ she said primly. ‘Just because Peggy’s nicked yours!’

‘Book-club partner?’ scoffed Angie.

‘We agreed to swap notes,’ said Jennie stiffly. ‘When we’d finished the book.’

‘I bet you did.’

‘Now look,’ I said nervously, as my two friends glared at one another across the room, ‘this is all getting a bit out of hand, isn’t it? We’ve only had one meeting and we are supposed to be discussing literature here, not matchmaking. Shall we all calm down?’

Angie and Jennie looked embarrassed. ‘Sorry,’ they both muttered sheepishly.

‘Totally pathetic,’ added Angie. ‘Talk about frustrated housewives. And anyway, the whole point was to get you back on track again.’ She looked at me. ‘Give you a bit of fun. What did you think of Luke?’

‘Nice,’ I said evenly. Patiently. ‘Easy to talk to.’

‘When she could get him away from Saintly Sue,’ remarked Jennie. ‘I noticed she was very quick to play hide the fifty p with him.’

I sighed. ‘I’m in no rush,’ I said, meaning it. ‘I’ve got the rest of my life, haven’t I?’

As I said it, the enormity of that simple statement, the freedom it conveyed and the joy, threatened to explode within me. I got to my feet as Archie wailed. The feverish rage of the last few days had left me as abruptly as it had arrived. That white-hot outrage at Phil’s betrayal had gone, and in its place a kind of calm acceptance together with an astonishing clarity prevailed. After a few minutes I said goodbye to my friends. Archie was getting cranky and needed his sleep, but, also, I wanted to savour that feeling on my own. Wanted to cradle my new-found freedom to myself as I cradled my son while he nodded off in my arms. How wonderful it was: I had the whole of my life to choose better, if at all. I shut Jennie’s front door softly behind me and walked down the path. It hadn’t escaped my notice that Sue had made a major play for Luke last night, but as the coin appeared from his trouser leg and as Sue, like a crouching tiger on the floor, had grabbed it with a shriek, I’d been happy to slip away. Been happy to go quietly. I certainly wasn’t going to fight for a man I hardly knew. And anyway, aside from our earlier conversation, he hadn’t exactly sought me out.

As I turned into my garden I wondered if it was true that everybody had a soulmate out there somewhere, or if most people just patched and made do? Met someone appropriate and in a fit of youthful enthusiasm turned a blind eye to any imperfections, thinking: perfect, you’ll do. Just after Phil and I got engaged I found a list in the breast pocket of his jacket which he’d left behind at my flat: pros and cons, with my name at the top. That should have been my moment. To call the whole thing off. Instead, I ran a fevered eye down and realized, with relief, that there were more pros than cons. One more. ‘Quite tidy’ had been the deal-clincher for Phil. Shaming. But don’t forget I’d been feeling very desperate at the time. Very much like a stale bun on a shelf.

Well, I wouldn’t be feeling that again, I determined as I went up my path and delved in my bag for my key, flushing with anger as I remembered. Wouldn’t be Making Do. I’d be very happy with Clemmie and Archie; yes, thank God I had children. That, of course, was pivotal in the desperation game: wanting – needing those. That biological urge. But now that I had them, we could be on our own for ever. I’d never have to panic-buy again.

‘I say, Poppy!’ As I turned to shut my front door, I saw Angus hurrying towards me, Spectator under his arm, fresh from the village shop. I went down the path to meet him, the autumn sun warm on my face, late hollyhocks brushing my arm. Angus raised his hat as he approached.

‘Hello, old girl, wasn’t that fun last night? And I gather I missed the best bit. Gather the party really got going!’

I smiled, shifting Archie in my arms so his head lay on my shoulder. ‘Well, it was eased along by almost the entire contents of Peggy’s drinks cupboard so it’s hardly surprising.’

I had a vague memory of her bringing out something green and vile, peering myopically at the label and saying, ‘I think I brought this back from Paxos in 1997.’ That had been my exit moment.

‘Yes, well, I was just going to say that next week Sylvia is visiting her sister in Cirencester, so happily I can join in the – you know,’ he winked broadly and rubbed his hands together, ‘fun and games!’

‘Oh, I’m not sure every book-club meeting will be like that, Angus. I mean, we didn’t have a book to discuss, did we? Next week, when we’ve all done our homework, I’m sure it’ll be much more cerebral.’

‘Euh.’ His rheumy old eyes looked downcast. Then brightened. ‘Oh yes, once we’ve done all that malarkey, but there’ll still be lots of time for fun too.’ He lowered his voice. ‘When I was in the army we played this terrific game at an all-ranks dance where you had to guess the bare backside. Blindfold, you know? Really broke the ice.’

‘I’m not convinced much ice needs breaking,’ I said uneasily, remembering Simon and Jennie chatting very quietly in a corner, heads bent so close together they almost touched.

‘Nevertheless I think I’ll bring one along.’

‘What?’

‘A blindfold. Scarf, or something. Got some marvellous Glenmorangie too that my brother-in-law gave me last Christmas; pretty sure Simon will like that. I’ll bring that too. Toodle-pip!’ And off he scurried, thrilled to bits, an entire screenplay playing out in his head, his Border terrier on a tartan lead trotting along beside him.

Later that morning, as I left the house to collect Clemmie from school, old Frank Warner, who’d been sitting outside the Rose and Crown across the road having a pint with Odd Bob, put his glass down on the bench and shuffled towards me.

‘Hello, Poppy.’

‘Hello, Frank.’

‘Um, Poppy, I gather there’s a bit of a book-club thingy occurring at Peggy’s place these days. Wondered if I could join?’ Frank was late sixties, an ex-squadron leader, widowed, vast moustache, excessive dandruff. He spent a lot of time outside the Rose and Crown sinking pint after pint with Odd Bob, who never said much but nodded sagely as Frank held forth about Harrier Jets. Bob, slower in every respect, had now joined us, it having taken him that much longer to circumnavigate the pond.

‘Bob would like to join too,’ Frank assured me firmly, as Bob nodded mutely. Bob was the closest thing we had to a village idiot. He was a tenant farmer who lived in the filthiest farmhouse imaginable on the road out of the village. If, perchance, as a favour to Angie, one ever popped the parish magazine through his door, such a cacophony of dog barking and howling would start you’d hear it all the way home, and then the geese would start honking and the whole village would turn and look accusingly at you when you returned.

‘Um, right. Well, I’m not quite sure, to be honest.’ I scratched my leg nervously. ‘Can I get back to you? Only – I’m not really organizing it. I’ll have to ask the others.’

Frank smoothed his luxuriant moustache in an alarmingly Terry Thomas manner. ‘If you would, my dear. And put in a good word for us, hm?’

‘Of course.’

He gave me a huge wink. ‘Ding dong,’ he murmured.

I hastened off up the hill with my buggy.

I told Jennie about it when I got back. She was weeding her front garden and leaned on her fork to listen.

‘Oh God, that’s nothing,’ she told me. ‘When I was in the shop just now, Dickie Frowbisher sidled up to me and said he’d read a lot of John Grisham and did that count?’

‘Oh dear God. What have we started?’

‘A book club,’ she said firmly. ‘With an exclusive, restricted membership. No new members unless they’ve been thoroughly vetted and agreed on by all existing members; and, as of next week, we get down to the serious business of talking books. Angus should drop them off today and then we can get reading.’

‘Exactly.’ I agreed. My eyes roved down. ‘What’s wrong with Leila?’ The usually irrepressible Irish terrier was lying at Jennie’s feet looking morose, a huge plastic collar, about a foot wide, like a halo around her neck. ‘Why has she got that on?’

Jennie regarded her hound speciously. ‘She self-harms,’ she told me gloomily.

‘No!’

‘Well, no, OK, she scratches herself. So she has to wear that stupid collar. D’you think I should blame myself? For her mental-health issues?’