‘She’s absolutely amazing. I have no idea how I managed without her,’ Melissa said, regaling Emily and Adam with tales of their perfect babysitter. ‘She’s fantastic with the kids, isn’t she, Mark?’

‘Er, yes. You already said so, though, Mel.’ Mark looked worriedly from her to her wine glass.

Mel ignored him. She’d only had a couple of glasses. And someone had to fill the awkward gaps in the conversation, since Mark didn’t seem to have much to say for himself, unsurprisingly. ‘She literally fell into our laps,’ she gushed on, talking to their friends, rather than to him. ‘I mean, it was just dreadful, her house catching fire like that, but the timing couldn’t have been better from our point of view. Mark likes her too, don’t you, Mark? Then again, he’s quite partial to blondes. Thus…’ Plucking up a strand of hair, Mel indicated her own transformed locks.

‘It’s different,’ Emily said, glancing between Mel and Mark. ‘I still think I prefer your own colour, though. In fact, I was saying to Adam I wished—’

‘Can’t afford to let things shlide, see, we women.’ Mel waggled her wine glass in Emily’s direction. ‘I mean, having a baby’s the most natural thing in the world, isn’t it? We should just pop ’em out…’ Poking a finger in her mouth, she attempted to pop her cheek. It didn’t quite pop, but they’d get the drift. ‘And then bounce back to our beautiful, slim selves. Course, we’d have to be beautiful to start with. And slim.’ Mel furrowed her brow, pondering her pre-baby body forlornly.

‘Good job you’re both of the above then.’ Adam paid her a compliment, bless him, in the absence of one from her husband, whom she was obviously embarrassing, judging by the uncomfortable look on his face. Mel didn’t much care. She was so bloody angry. How dare he sit there in judgement of her.

‘But it has to be effortless,’ she went on determinedly, knocking back the contents of her glass and planting it on the table. ‘Lisa’s effortless, isn’t she, Mark? Like an adorable, natural little pixie.’

Mark glanced down at that, drawing in a long breath – quite clearly embarrassed.

‘I can’t believe she can hold her own as a police officer. Ooh, pardon me, I mean a detective sergeant.’ Mel flapped her hand, pseudo-apologetically. ‘Probably holds everyone else’s, as well,’ she added bitchily. Then, chuckling at her wit, whilst biting back a sudden urge to burst into tears, she reached for the wine bottle.

‘It’s all gone, Mel,’ Mark pointed out gently, glancing warily at Emily as he did so.

‘Oh well, we’ll just order another then.’ Mel waved the bottle by way of attracting the waiter’s attention.

‘The time’s getting on, Mel,’ Mark started. ‘Maybe we should—’

‘We’ll have another Pinot Grigio, please,’ said Mel, smiling sweetly and fluttering her eyelashes at the waiter as he came across to their table.

The waiter nodded politely and, apparently oblivious to her subtle flirtations, reached to relieve her of the empty bottle. Ah well, his loss. He was probably gay. Far too good-looking not to be. Mel looked him over, giving Emily a conspiratorial wink. ‘Adam’ – she turned to him – ‘another red?’

Adam glanced at Mark and then back to her. ‘No. Thanks, Mel, I’ve had more than enough,’ he said, with a gracious smile.

‘But you’re not driving,’ Mel reminded him. ‘You came in a taxi. What was the point of that, for goodness’ sake, if you didn’t intend to have a drink? Go on, go wild. You only live once.’

Adam reached up a hand and scratched behind his ear. A habit he was prone to when he was agitated, Emily had once confided. He looked a bit agitated. Mel squinted at him. Probably because of Mark sitting there looking so bloody po-faced.

What had he got to be miserable about? It was she who was supposed to be miserable, wasn’t it? Was she spoiling everyone’s evening? No. Shooting Mark a scornful look, Mel reached to grab his still three-quarters-full glass. ‘Here then. You might as well finish Mark’s,’ she said, pouring the remainder of the red wine into Adam’s glass. ‘He’s obviously not going to.’

‘Doesn’t look like I am either,’ Adam pointed out, pulling back out of splashing distance as most of the contents of the glass spilled onto the pristine white tablecloth.

‘Whoops, sorry!’ Mel closed one eye and smiled wanly. ‘Never mind. I’ll order you a single glass instead.’

‘Mel…’ Mark caught hold of her arm as she waved the glass in the air. ‘He doesn’t want one.’

‘Oh?’ Mel turned to glare at him. ‘And you’ve decided that for him, have you? Clearly you’re a mind reader now, as well as perfect in every other possible way and a genius when it comes to women’s feelings. I mean you’re just so flipping clever, I’m in awe. Particularly at how you cleverly managed to text Lisa about the little secret between you while she was sitting in my kitchen!’

The silence that followed was profound, made more obvious by all the diners in the restaurant seeming to stop clattering cutlery as one and turn heads in their direction. Mel didn’t care about that either. Was she at fault here? For what, exactly? Making a monumental effort to have a good time when the man she’d thought she could trust implicitly had betrayed her? Did he really expect her to believe Lisa’s feeble attempts to convince her they’d done no more than swap intimate texts? Hah!

Swiping a tear from her face, she snatched the new bottle of wine from the ice bucket as the waiter brought it across. ‘Come on – cheer up, everyone, for goodness’ sake,’ she said, topping up her glass. We’re supposed be celebrating Emily’s birthday.’

Glancing at Mark, who wouldn’t meet her gaze, and then at Adam, who averted his in favour of studying his phone, she leaned across to refill Emily’s glass. ‘We should leave these killjoys here and go clubbing,’ she suggested, casting another meaningful look in Mark’s direction. Obviously, they’ve forgotten how to have a good time.’

Emily, though, placed her hand over her glass. ‘Actually, I think we need to go, Mel.’ She smiled apologetically. ‘Kayla’s not so happy with her babysitter. You know what eleven-year-olds can be like.’

‘Oh.’ Reminded of the fact that she had children of her own, Mel dropped her gaze. ‘Yes. Of course. Sorry, I… wasn’t thinking.’

‘The taxi’s outside.’ Emily reached to squeeze her arm. ‘I’ll give you a ring tomorrow, Mel. Take care, hon.’

Giving Mark a pointed look, Emily got to her feet and walked around to give Mel a firm hug. The two men stood simultaneously, leaving Mel feeling bewildered, still seated at the table. She had spoiled her friend’s birthday. Spoiled everything. No! It was Mark’s fault, not hers. She was only trying to be cheerful. What was the matter with everyone?

‘I’ll give you a ring. About that holiday chalet,’ Mark said, shaking Adam’s hand.

‘Do that.’ Adam smiled. ‘We have some new log cabins being built by the river. It would be great to have you and Mel over to dinner one evening. I’ll give you the guided tour.’

Emily went around to Mark then, giving him a hug. A very firm hug. Mel watched, jealousy and incomprehension warring inside her. Incomprehension at her own volatile emotions. Mark wouldn’t. She knew in her heart that he wouldn’t. His family were the world to him. So, why was she hurting so much? Why did she want to hurt him? Because it had been too good to be true? He’d been too good to be true? Her white knight had probably got tired of the battle. Tired of her. And who could blame him?

Adam and Emily left, and Mark rushed to settle the bill before she disgraced herself completely.

‘Okay?’ he asked her, slipping his wallet back into his pocket as he walked back to her, then leaning down to wrap an arm around her shoulders. He tried to make eye contact, but she looked away. She didn’t want to see the pain in his eyes, the humiliation that would undoubtedly be there. She’d only been trying to have a bit of fun. It wasn’t her fault. He’d caused all this, not her.

Her heart, which had been sinking steadily all evening, settled like a cold stone in her chest. She reached for the bottle of wine, drawing it proprietorially closer. People were looking. She could feel the prickle of their disapproving, hostile stares. But she didn’t care.

‘Go then. I’m staying,’ she announced, getting precariously to her feet as the too-handsome-not-to-be-gay waiter came over. ‘I’m going to dance on the tables with Miguel.’

Stumbling forward, one leg decidedly shorter – it turned out she was missing a shoe – she snaked the hand still clutching the wine around the startled waiter’s neck. ‘Dance with me, Miguel,’ she said breathily, attempting to lock come-hither eyes on his, but found she couldn’t quite focus.

‘Mel?’ She felt a hand slide around her waist. Another trying to ease her arm from around the man’s neck. ‘We need to go home, Mel,’ Mark said, close to her ear, as the room tilted and shifted. His voice wasn’t angry. It was soft. Concerned. Frightened.

Oh, dear God. She was frightened.

Mel felt the floor shift violently beneath her, saw a thousand slivers of green glass shoot across the floor in slow motion as her legs melted, like soft butter, beneath her.