We park across the road from the restaurant and I wait by the car as Jared heads over to the machine to get a ticket. There’s a lull in the rain, thank goodness, but a breeze is gusting off the ocean. I pull my jacket closer around me as my silk dress ripples across my body in deep green waves. Guilt pricks at me, at the extravagance and expense of my new outfit. Jared told me I should buy something new to wear and I have to admit it’s nice to feel glamorous for once. My shopping spree was worth it for the confidence boost. I promise myself that after tonight, I’ll be frugal for the rest of the year.

Jared returns and sticks the ticket on the inside of the car windscreen. I take his arm and totter beside him, unsteady in towering silver heels that give me the height I’ve always craved. In the end, we couldn’t manage to get a babysitter so I dropped Joe at Darcy and Mike’s earlier, giving the boys a few hours to play before bed.

‘That dress really suits you,’ Jared says. ‘You look good, Louisa.’

‘Thanks. You too.’ I smile up at him and he dips his head to kiss me. The scent of his aftershave makes me catch my breath. He grins and quickens his pace. I can’t keep up in such impractical footwear.

‘Slow down!’ I cry. ‘These shoes…’

‘Shall I carry you?’ He bends as if to scoop me up, and I hit him with my handbag, laughing at his childish behaviour.

We dodge the lingering puddles and come to an undignified stop at the restaurant. It’s one of those places with staff on the door. They nod as we go in, ignoring our stifled laughter. We tell the greeter that we’re meeting the Lanes and her snooty expression shifts into a smile.

‘Follow me, please.’

We do as she says, and she leads us to the bar where Darcy and Mike are seated on stools, chatting to a man in a dark suit.

‘This is the guy I was telling you about,’ Mike says to the man. Then he turns to us and smiles. ‘Louisa, Jared, good to see you again.’

Darcy and Mike get to their feet. Darcy stunning in a pale blue lace dress, her hair piled into an artfully created up-do. We say hello in a flurry of perfumed, alcoholic kisses and handshakes.

‘This is Saul Parnell,’ Mike says, introducing the man in the suit. ‘He owns Shore View plus several other restaurants along the south coast. I’ve been talking to him about you, Jared.’

‘Good to meet you,’ Jared says. ‘Your place looks amazing. That view…’

We all turn to gaze at the harbour view, the boats illuminated by the restaurant deck lighting, the distant on-shore lights twinkling in the darkness, the moon casting a silvery wash over the water.

‘You should see it during the day,’ Saul says. ‘Come for lunch, Jared. We’ll have a chat about advertising. See Molly on the front desk. She’ll schedule you in.’

‘Great,’ Jared says. ‘I look forward to it.’

Saul says goodbye and leaves us to our evening. My husband’s face is flushed with excitement. Doors are opening for him without him having to do a thing.

I catch Darcy’s eye. She’s seen me observing my husband. She’s noted his transparent excitement, too. I flush.

She winks and grabs my arm. ‘You must try one of the margaritas. They’re delicious. I’ll order you one.’

‘Sounds tempting,’ I reply with an apologetic dip of my head, ‘but I’m driving tonight.’

‘Absolutely not! Leave your car and grab a cab later.’

I turn to Jared and he nods with a smile. ‘The parking ticket’s good until eight tomorrow morning,’ he says. ‘I’ll cycle down in the morning. Pick it up before work.’

‘Nonsense,’ says Darcy. ‘Leave your car keys with reception and I’ll make sure one of the staff drops it back.’

‘I didn’t know they did that here,’ Jared replies.

‘They don’t, but they will for us.’ She winks at Jared and turns to the barman. ‘Four margaritas.’

I catch Jared’s eye and he shrugs. It’s like we’ve stepped into a parallel universe. One where nothing is impossible.

Several rounds later, we’re shown over to a table by the window. I go to sit next to Jared, but Darcy puts her hand on my arm. ‘Come sit by me. Give the boys a chance talk.’

I do as she suggests and sit next to her. She’s now seated opposite my husband, and I’m opposite Mike.

Thankfully, no one wants a starter so we browse the menu for main courses. The prices are insane. The cheapest thing on there is vegetarian pasta for twenty-five pounds. I’d prefer fish, but the prices are eye-watering. Mike opts for a steak at over fifty quid, and Darcy’s having lobster paella. Jared goes for the chicken and I try to ignore the cost and have the salmon, hoping I don’t choke on it. We definitely won’t be having dessert. And we’ll have to eat beans on toast for the rest of the month.

‘It’s really good of you to let Joe crash Tyler’s party,’ I say. ‘It sounds like it’s going to be an amazing day.’

‘Yeah,’ Jared says. ‘Never mind about the kids – I’m excited to go.’

We all laugh as the waitress pours champagne.

Mike raises his glass. ‘To new friends.’

‘New friends,’ we chorus, clinking our glasses.

Despite my horror at the expense of the place, the evening is wonderful. The food is superb and the conversation flows so easily, it’s like I almost belong in this glamorous place with these beautiful people. Maybe what Jared said about us living this lifestyle might actually become a reality. I’m not sure I even want that. I’m happy with what we have, I really am. This evening, this place and all its glitter, it’s not real. It’s not what truly matters. I know that, but I wonder if my husband does.

The main courses are over and everyone else is clamouring for dessert, so – drunk on margaritas and champagne – I give in and order a passion fruit pavlova which melts on the tongue and tastes like manna from the gods. Mike and Jared are deep in conversation and I’m complimenting Darcy on her design blog. ‘Honestly, it’s beautifully laid out and the articles are brilliant. Informative and really witty.’

‘I should hang out with you more often,’ she says.

‘No, honestly. You could definitely have a career as a writer,’ I say.

‘You think?’

‘I know.’

‘Thank you!’ She gives my arm a squeeze. ‘God, I’m defeated,’ she says laying down her spoon, only having touched about a third of her sorbet. ‘So how about Jared? Looks like big things ahead for him – new agency and everything. Exciting for the both of you.’

‘Nerve-wracking, more like,’ I confide.

‘How so?’

‘He has a great job already. Chucking it all in to set up on his own is quite a gamble.’ Saying the words out loud, I feel a lump of emotion in my throat. I really am quite drunk and probably shouldn’t be talking about this to Darcy.

‘Going for your dream is always a gamble,’ she says. ‘Jared has a spark. He’ll do it, I can tell.’

‘I hope you’re right.’

‘I’m always right,’ she deadpans.

There’s a pause, and then we break out into uncontrollable laughter. Jared and Mike look up from their conversation, grinning and shaking their heads at our behaviour. I’m not even sure what’s so funny, but I can’t seem to stop.

‘You’ll never believe the time,’ Mike says. ‘It’s twelve thirty already.’

‘Shut. Up,’ Darcy says. ‘How the hell can it be twelve thirty? It only feels like ten o’clock.’

‘Shall we get the bill?’ Mike asks. ‘Don’t want to be a party pooper but I’ve got an early meeting tomorrow.’

‘We’ll get the bill,’ Jared says, without looking at me.

I stop laughing. Has my husband just offered to pay for everyone’s dinner? We can barely afford our own.

‘No, no,’ Mike says. ‘That’s okay, we’ll split it.’

Thank goodness for that.

‘No, I insist,’ Jared says, before I can take Mike up on his offer to go halves. ‘Our son is gate crashing Tyler’s birthday party,’ my husband says. ‘The least we can do is buy dinner.’

Joe’s original party was going to be a cheap and cheerful affair. I absolutely dread to think what tonight’s meal will cost – the steak, lobster, cocktails, champagne. But I can’t find a way to get out of it without embarrassing my husband. In fact, it’s already a done deal. Darcy and Mike are already thanking Jared.

‘That dress is gorgeous, by the way,’ Darcy says to me. ‘I meant to say earlier how cute you look tonight.’

‘Thanks,’ I reply, now bitterly regretting its purchase.

‘Four hundred and thirty quid,’ I hiss. ‘That’s just insane.’

We’re halfway home and my earlier good mood has evaporated. I’ve pushed myself up against the cab door as far away from my husband as I can get, my fists clenched, nails digging into my palms. All I can think of is the mounting credit-card debt that Jared believes will one day magically vanish in a puff of smoke.

‘I didn’t know the bill would be that much,’ he says, squeezing my arm, trying to calm me down.

I shrug him off, shaking my head. ‘Well, maybe you should have waited to see it, before offering to pay it.’

‘Louisa,’ he says, ‘I thought I was doing the right thing. You know, with them organising that big birthday party for the boys. It seemed only fair to—’

‘We could have had twenty kids’ birthday parties for the price of this evening’s dinner. And I didn’t even want a big party for Joe. I wanted a low-key kick about at the park, followed by pizza.’

‘That’s not my fault,’ he says.

‘No, but offering to pay the equivalent of half the national debt for dinner at a snooty restaurant is most definitely your fault.’

He scowls, and slides away from me, across to the other side of the cab. I don’t want to have an argument, but I’m unable to swallow down my anger. I’m worried about how badly my husband wants to fit in with these people. I should never have agreed to this dinner date. This whole lifestyle is way out of our league and we shouldn’t have pretended otherwise.

We sit in hostile silence as the taxi cruises alongside the harbour, the driver wisely choosing not to make conversation. I’m too angry to feel any embarrassment at what the guy must think of us; I’m sure he’s heard dozens of couples arguing in his cab before tonight.

I glance to my right. Jared is angled away from me, his dark expression reflected back in the window. My stomach churns and twists. I hate it when we fight, but I don’t know how we’re going to get past this. He doesn’t think he’s done anything wrong. He doesn’t see the problem. We already have everything we need, yet it never seems to be enough.

‘Mike has offered me free office space for a year,’ he says, breaking the silence, turning back to face me. ‘I wasn’t going to say anything to you about it tonight because I know you’re not exactly thrilled about me setting up my own agency. That’s the real reason I offered to pay for dinner.’

I don’t reply. I’m digesting the information.

His eyes brighten. ‘Free office space is worth thousands, Louisa. It’s nothing compared with a paltry four hundred quid.’

I take a deep breath. ‘Yes, Jared. But, at this moment in time, we haven’t got four hundred quid. So hypothetical free office space isn’t going to help us pay the credit-card bill next month.’

‘You don’t get it,’ he says.

‘No,’ I reply. ‘You’re right. I don’t.’

This time, the silence continues right up until the taxi driver drops us outside our front door.

My stomach is still churning. I thought it was anxiety and stress about our argument, but a twist of pain grinds in my gut, followed by a wave of nausea that suddenly sweeps up my back and over my scalp. This is more than just anxiety – I think I’m actually going to be sick. I take a deep breath and pray that I’m going to make it inside the house in time. I really don’t want to throw up in this man’s cab or on the pavement. Jared sorts out the taxi fare – to add to tonight’s mounting expenses – while I fumble for the house keys, stagger out of the vehicle, and lurch towards the front door.

Luckily, we have a downstairs loo and I only just make it there in time before being violently sick into the toilet.

I hear the front door bang shut followed by a tap on the loo door.

‘Louisa, are you okay?’

As the toilet door opens, I throw up again. My stomach feels as though someone is screwing it up into a ball.

Jared’s hand rests on my back. ‘Shall I get you some water?’

‘Yes please,’ I say, before heaving my guts up once more. Salmon and pavlova. Champagne and stomach acid.

He returns moments later with a glass. I take it from him and use the water to rinse my mouth out. Not yet daring to swallow.

‘I didn’t think you were that drunk,’ Jared says.

‘I think it’s food poisoning,’ I gasp.

‘Are you sure?’

I nod. I can tell the different between being drunk and eating a piece of dodgy fish. I bite back any further comments. My husband is worried about me. We’ve argued enough tonight. And besides, I know I’m about to have a horribly uncomfortable night ahead.

I spent most of last night throwing up, and most of today lying on the sofa in my dressing gown. I was supposed to be writing my column today, but I can’t get myself motivated so I decide to drag some clothes on and go for a short walk around the block – perhaps a change of scenery will inspire me. Despite the persistent drizzle, this cool, fresh air is exactly what I need. I gulp down lungfuls of the stuff, trying to clear my head and soothe my tender body. Beth will be dropping Joe back home from school in about an hour so I can’t be out for too long. The back roads are quiet, just the wind in the trees and the infrequent hiss of a car cruising by on the rain-slick tarmac.

I decide to head to the local park. I’ll walk once around the field and then head home again. I try not to think about last night. About the fight I had with Jared. He was so sweet to me while I was throwing up, so I can’t stay mad at him.

A woman with two black Labradors strides past me towards the park. She’s wearing a sensible raincoat and wellingtons. The field will most likely be a quagmire. I should have worn boots rather than trainers. Never mind. I don’t care about a bit of mud. I push open the park gate and walk in. The concrete path is covered with wet leaves, and extends along one side of the field, but I ignore it and choose instead to walk on the other side, away from the dogs. I want to be alone.

As my feet squelch through the grass, I gaze up at the trees flanking the park. At the horse chestnuts, oaks and sycamores swaying in the breeze, their soggy leaves swirling down around me, bright against the slate sky. Joe would love it out here in the rain.

Up ahead, someone steps out of the woods. A man. He pauses, scratches his beard, looks right, and then left, in my direction. After a beat, he turns and begins walking purposefully towards me. I stop dead and my skin goes cold.

It’s him again.