‘Sorry. Just explaining the baggy eyes this morning.’ She grinned sheepishly and hid them in her coffee. They twinkled a bit. ‘Anyway, we made a sort of pact to go away on our own for a few days after Christmas. Get to know each other again, as they’re so fond of telling us to do in women’s magazines.’

‘Good idea. I’ll have the kids.’

‘Thanks, but I think Frankie will be fine if you’d just keep a weather eye. Lob some fresh fruit over the fence every now and then.’

It occurred to me that a few weeks ago Jennie would never have trusted Frankie to look after the younger ones. They must have had a very good chat.

‘And what about you?’ She eyed me speculatively. I flinched. I knew that look. Once Jennie had sorted out her own life there was nothing she liked more than getting to grips with someone else’s. I wriggled under her laser beam but was trapped, like a moth on a microscope slide. ‘I thought you were going out last night? How come you were still skulking in your dressing gown when we burst in like the Addams Family?’

‘Ah. Well.’ I told her about Luke. About Angie. Then about Peggy.

She looked thoughtful a moment. Compressed her lips. ‘Bit of a knee-jerk reaction?’

‘What, mine?’

‘Well, yes. Angie casually mentions you haven’t exactly been left destitute, and suddenly his motives are all wrong and he’s a gold-digging fortune-hunter and you drop him like a hot coal.’

‘Well –’

‘You’re not exactly Jackie Onassis, Poppy.’

I flushed, remembering I’d compared myself to the very same woman last night. ‘No, of course not.’

‘You’ve just been left enough to buy a decent house and educate your kids, which the widow of any professional man who’s built up a business might expect. Luke could have worked that out for himself. And you’ve still got two children, as he rightly observed to Angie. Still come with baggage.’

I stared at her. ‘What are you saying?’

‘I’m saying you’re leaping to conclusions, courtesy of Peggy, who only thinks in black and white. Roger was the love of her life, ergo there will never be another. End of story. So she gads about teasing the elderly bachelors but will never bring herself to land one. Is that what you want?’

I sat down slowly. ‘Well, put like that …’

‘Life is not black and white, Poppy, it’s very grey, to the point of being grimy. There’s a great deal of compromise and shading of areas – ask me and Dan. Just because you went so wildly wrong with Phil, doesn’t mean all men are shits and you’re going to go disastrously wrong again.’

I gasped. ‘Did you have a glass to the wall?’

‘What d’you mean?’

‘Well, that’s what I think! What I told Peggy – that I will go wrong!’

‘I know, I can tell. And Peggy’s encouraging you to be forensic, to settle for nothing but perfection. She would. She’s all or nothing. Which is fine if you’re happy with nothing. Personally I like a little something.’ She crossed her legs.

I gulped, horribly confused. ‘Oh God. Oh God, I don’t know, Jennie!’ I wailed, shooting anguished fingers through my hair. I clutched at the roots. ‘When I talk to Peggy, I think – yes yes yes; and when I talk to you, I think – yes yes yes too! Why is that?’

‘Because you’re suggestible, like my husband,’ she said calmly. ‘Not a sheep, exactly –’

‘Oh, thanks!’

‘But very persuadable.’ She brushed an imaginary bit of fluff from her knee, warming up nicely. ‘It’s terribly simple really. Do you like him?’

‘Who, Luke?’

‘Yes of course Luke, not Dan. Although you’re more than welcome to him.’

‘Um, yes.’ I bit my thumbnail.

‘Enjoy his company? Enjoy spending time with him?’

I thought back to the pub lunch we’d shared: how he’d flipped beer mats to amuse Clemmie. Made me burst out laughing at the King’s Head.

‘Yes, I enjoy his company.’

‘Enjoyed kissing him outside your house the other day?’

I stared. ‘Bog off, Jennie,’ I muttered, blushing.

‘Do you love him?’

‘No. I mean … I don’t know.’

‘Exactly, of course you don’t! And why should you? You’ve only known him a few weeks. But give it a chance, Poppy,’ she urged. ‘You don’t have to decide tomorrow, or next week, or even next year, but how will you know if you don’t at least give it a chance? And if you’re worried about the money thing, just ask him.’

‘Oh, right, like – Luke, are you after my dosh?’

‘No, but you could happen to mention how Angie exaggerates like crazy – which she does – and has told half the village you’re rich as Croesus. Laugh it off.’

Half the village. I thought of Odd Bob propositioning me. Stalking me, even. Saintly Sue telling me she couldn’t compete with me in That Department.

‘Oh, Christ. Thanks, Angie,’ I muttered.

‘He’ll know that’s true, about Angie exaggerating, and you can even say she got it wrong and it couldn’t be further from the truth – he’ll be so confused he won’t know what to believe. Then see if he sticks around. Personally, I bet he will. I’ll bet the money’s got nothing to do with it. He’s a nice guy, Poppy. Don’t write him off entirely.’

‘Really?’ I asked anxiously. ‘You really like him, Jennie?’

‘Yes, I do, but it’s what you think that matters.’

‘But that’s just it, I don’t know!’ I yelped. ‘Don’t know my own mind any more. Not sure I have one as a matter of fact.’

‘Course you do.’ But it wasn’t said with much conviction and I slumped miserably at the table, holding my head theatrically in my hands. I knew she was being extra punchy because she’d made a fool of herself last night and was roaring back from the dog house, but still.

‘When’s Leila due?’ I asked, jerking upright, keen to plunge her back into her own domestic crisis.

‘Leila,’ she spat. ‘Who knows. Dogs are supposed to have a fourteen-week gestation period, but since she’s half devil it could be any time. She’s not fit to be a mother, Poppy. Quite aside from her mental-health issues she’s a serial shagger and that’s not nice, is it? I’d ask the vet to terminate her but the children would never forgive me. And anyway, how d’you stop a She-Devil whelping? She’d find a way to squeeze them out, just to spite me.’

I grinned. Jennie huffed and puffed a lot of hot air, but I knew very well that cometh the hour, cometh the midwife. She’d be up all night, installed in Leila’s whelping box, coaxing her along, holding her paw during contractions, and then be besotted by the litter; never leaving the house, so busy would she be mashing Weetabix and scrambling eggs. In fact there was every possibility she’d keep the lot. A rather satisfactory vision of eight, fully grown Leilas on the end of eight leads, propelling Jennie at speed through the village, sprang to mind.

‘You know, it might be the making of her,’ I mused.

‘Leila? I doubt it. She’ll probably give birth in a nasty wet bush and be off in moments, sniffing for trouser again. Looking for another Peddler to do some brisk fornicating with. Wasn’t that the name of the dog?’

‘Peddler? Oh God, of course. Mark said she’d been seen with him. They might be Peddler’s puppies! Oh, Jennie, I’d really like one if they are.’

‘Would you?’ She looked surprised. Then she brightened. ‘Okeydoke. But there might be some demand, you know.’ She squared her shoulders. ‘Despite my own misgivings, Leila is well liked around here. Might be expensive too. But I’ll put you on my list.’

Typical. Really typical. She was back in control again. Imagining herself saying, ‘No, Mrs Fish, I’m not convinced your garden is big enough.’

‘She’s definitely pregnant, is she?’ I warned. ‘That test might not be accurate on a dog.’

‘My thoughts entirely so I rang the vet. He said it’ll be pretty conclusive, the hormones are much the same. And as Dan tastefully pointed out, she’s dugging up a treat.’

‘Right. Bugger. Why isn’t it starting?’ I gazed at my unlit washing machine.

‘Because you’ve put too much in.’

Annoyingly I knew she was right and I stalked to open it and pull out a sheet. It had got caught somehow and I tugged at the clod of linen but it was stuck fast, so that when I pulled really hard, the whole contents of the drum came out in rush, which had me falling on my bottom. At which point the doorbell went.

‘D’you want me to get that?’

‘Please.’

‘And then I’m going to have her spayed,’ Jennie told me decisively as she marched to the front door. ‘That’ll take the wind out of her sails.’

‘They get fat and bad-tempered,’ I warned.

‘Who doesn’t?’ she snorted. ‘Spayed or not.’

I separated a double duvet cover from the herd and stuffed the rest back in, resetting the dial. Away it went.

‘Thank you,’ I heard Jennie say to someone at the door. She came back down the hall. ‘Hey, look at this.’

I turned to see her bearing a bunch of white roses with pretty blue cornflowers tucked in between. She handed them to me. ‘For you, apparently.’

Astonished, I took the paper-wrapped bouquet. Then sat down and opened the note. It was a long time since anyone had sent me flowers. In fact … no. No one at all.

‘They’re from Luke,’ I said slowly, reading. ‘Hope you’re feeling better, lots of love.’

Jennie peered over my shoulder. ‘Oh, what a shitty thing to do,’ she said vehemently. ‘Gets stood up at a moment’s notice and then sends flowers. I ask you.’ She folded her arms.