‘What—?’

‘Because you are wasting the one you’ve got, and it isn’t doing you any favours,’ Liza continued remorselessly. ‘What Liam said was true: you don’t do anything. You’re bored out of your skull and you don’t even know it. I mean, what’s the plan, Dulcie? When we’re sixty and we look back over our lives, what will you be able to say?’ Mimicking Dulcie’s flippant manner, she chirruped, ‘Well, I was good at shopping and brilliant at telling lies ...’

Pru stared in horror as Dulcie, red-cheeked, leapt to her feet.

‘You are a bitch,’ Dulcie shouted at Liza, ‘and you are way too old for Kit Berenger—’

‘At least I’d never dream of telling a man I was pregnant—’

‘He’s too young for you, he’s too young for you—’

‘And Patrick’s definitely well rid of you—’

‘STOP IT!’ shrieked Pru, launching herself across the table and pushing herself between the two of them like a boxing referee. She grabbed one of Dulcie’s wrists and shook it, forcing Dulcie back into her chair. ‘Just stop this AT ONCE.’ Dulcie rubbed her wrist. Ouch, it really hurt.

‘Why should I? She started it.’

‘I did not start it,’ Liza snapped back. She glared at Dulcie. ‘This is all your fault. Just because you were dumped by Liam.’

Liam. Dulcie conjured up a mental picture of him playing a brilliant backhand cross-court volley, blond hair flying, eyes flashing .. .

She closed her eyes. No, this had nothing to do with Liam. When Dulcie didn’t speak, Liza rose to her feet. Pointedly she addressed her words to Pru.

‘Time to go.’

Clearly still shaken by her own bravery, Pru went with her to the front door.

Left alone at the kitchen table, Dulcie heard them murmuring together in the hall. Ah well, she was getting used to it.

She stubbed out the cigarette she’d forgotten to smoke in all the excitement, and refilled her almost empty glass.

Straining to overhear, Dulcie managed to make out Liza’s words: ‘No, no, I’m fine. Kit’s waiting at home for me.’

Dulcie took a great slurp of wine. Raising her own voice, she called out, ‘Don’t forget to warm his bottle before you tuck him into bed.’

Chapter 36

Unlike Pru’s bedsitter, which – as Dulcie had pointed out to Eddie Hammond – wasn’t on the way to anywhere, Bibi’s house was situated on the main road leading into Bath.

This meant you couldn’t help passing Bibi’s house even when you didn’t want to.

Like today.

Dulcie felt her stomach begin to tense up as she approached the first bend in the road. One twist to the left, one twist to the right, then the traffic lights. And there, on the left if you were unlucky enough to be caught at the lights, was Bibi’s house with its sloping front garden and narrow, hard-to-get-into drive.

Dulcie had a thumping headache, thanks to finishing off all the red wine Liza hadn’t stayed to drink last night. She had woken up sensing something was wrong, then groaned as the awful memories seeped back.

Pru hadn’t helped.

‘You should apologise to Liza,’ she told Dulcie.

‘Oh God, why do I always have to be the one to apologise?’ Dulcie wailed.

Pru hadn’t stated the obvious, she had simply given Dulcie a long look.

And since in view of the Liam thing it seemed sensible to steer clear of Brunton Manor for a while, Dulcie could think of only one other sensible way to pass the time.

Go shopping.

She especially didn’t enjoy passing Bibi’s house today because it served as a horrible reminder of yet another occasion when she had tried to improve a situation, only to end up making it much, much worse instead.

At first, in the weeks following Patrick’s eventful surprise party, Dulcie had crossed her fingers each time she approached the traffic lights, praying that when she rounded the second bend she would see James’s car parked on Bibi’s drive.

But this hadn’t happened, which just went to show what a waste of time praying and crossing your fingers was. These days Dulcie simply hoped she wouldn’t see Bibi.

Now, as the house came into view, she saw a different car on the drive.

This was interesting, because it might mean there was a new man at last in Bibi’s life.

Dulcie braked, even though the traffic lights — for once in their contrary lives — were on green.

A blue Renault behind her tooted irritably but Dulcie ignored it, far too intrigued by the car on the drive.

This was good news, this was promising news. If Bibi’s found herself a new man, thought Dulcie, perking up at the idea, I can stop feeling guilty about James.

The lights changed to red and she drew to a halt. The driver of the Renault gave a blast on his horn in disgust.

And Dulcie realised, too late, that the car on Bibi’s drive wasn’t unoccupied, as she had at first thought. Those headrests weren’t head-rests at all, they were heads.

Claire Berenger hadn’t only snapped up her husband, Dulcie realised miserably; she’d gone for the job lot and bagged her mother-in-law too.

Jealousy wasn’t an emotion Dulcie had ever had much to do with, but she couldn’t help feeling it now. It hurt too, like a serrated knife twisting in her ribs.

Unable to tear her eyes away, she watched Bibi and Claire jump out of the car, laughing and weighed down with glossy carriers. Dulcie recognised several of them; in the old days she and Bibi had indulged in delicious spending sprees, visiting all their favourite shopping haunts and stopping for lunch somewhere gossipy and glamorous. They had both enjoyed their days out together almost as much as the actual buying of the new clothes.

We always got on so well, thought Dulcie, feeling horribly bereft. Bibi was the best mother-in-law anyone could wish for. And now she doesn’t need me any more. She’s got herself another potential daughter-in-law, a new best friend.

The lights had changed to green again without Dulcie noticing. The blare of the Renault’s horn behind her made her jump. When she lifted her foot from the clutch, the car jerked in protest and promptly stalled.

More horns were tooted. Beginning to perspire, Dulcie turned the key in the ignition. Nothing happened.

She tried again.

And again, harder this time.

Still nothing.

From the sound of it, every car in Bath was blasting its horn at her now. The prickle of perspiration had turned into a torrent of sweat. And although Dulcie couldn’t bear to look, she knew Bibi and Claire would be watching with interest. Interest that would turn to amusement, no doubt, the moment Bibi recognised her car. This would make her day.

The traffic lights, almost with a shrug — ‘You had your chance, you blew it’ — turned back to red.

To her horror, Dulcie realised the man behind her was climbing out of his Renault. Next moment he hammered on her window, his face as shiny and purple as an aubergine.

‘You stupid cow,’ he bellowed. ‘What the hell d’you think you’re playing at? Bloody women drivers — bimbos like you shouldn’t be allowed on the road!’

Dulcie wasn’t up to defending herself. She was up to here with being shouted at.

She burst into tears and jumped out of the car, almost cannoning off the Renault driver’s great barrel of a chest.

‘The car’s broken down. It won’t go.’ Hating herself for being such a wimp, Dulcie heard her voice go higher and higher. ‘And don’t yell at me because it’s not my fault, okay?’

‘Bloody women, nothing’s ever your fault, is it?’ sneered the man, whose wife had run off with a taxi driver, taken the kids with her and stung him for so much alimony his business had gone down the tubes.

Dulcie lifted her chin. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Bibi and Claire watching the goings-on.

‘If you’re so clever,’ she said bitterly to the man, ‘you have a go.’

He climbed into Dulcie’s car, flicked the key in the ignition and pumped the clutch a couple of times.

The engine sprang obediently into life.

The look on the man’s face was unbearable. Nobody, thought Dulcie, should be allowed to do a look like that. She wanted nothing more than to slap his horrid purple cheek.

‘Here,’ sneered the beastly man as he climbed out, ‘think you can manage to get past the traffic lights this time, or would you like me to do that for you as well?’

Gritting her teeth, Dulcie slid back into the driver’s seat. Glancing across one last time she saw that Bibi and Claire were still there, witnessing her humiliation and no doubt enjoying it hugely.

The lights turned green.

As nervous as a learner taking her test, Dulcie pulled tentatively away and made it over to the other side.

A motley bunch of teenagers on bikes who had stopped to watch the free show jeered and whistled and gave her an ironic round of applause.

And you can all get stuffed too, thought Dulcie. Her lower lip began to wobble again out of sheer relief as she drove past them and headed on into Bath.

Finding somewhere to park took for ever. By the time she had finished shoe-horning the car into a cramped space outside a wholefood café on Mortimer Street, Dulcie’s yellow shirt was sticking to her back and her palms were so damp she could barely grip the steering wheel.

Since a mopping-up operation appeared to be in order, Dulcie went inside the café, ordered an orange juice and dived into the loo. There wasn’t much to be done about the shirt but at least she could wash her hands, hold her wrists under the cold water tap, run a comb through her hair and quickly re-do her face.

The man behind the counter grinned at Dulcie when she reappeared.

‘That’s better. Been one of those mornings by the look of it.’

Nice to know you looked as dreadful as you felt, thought Dulcie, managing a brief nod in return as she paid for the orange juice.