‘Leave him.’

Fiona’s red face was caused by the passion of her venom more than the few sips of complimentary wine she and Dominique had drunk. She stared straight ahead, talking to Dominique’s reflection as they sat side by side at their hairdresser’s.

‘You deserve better than him, Dom, you know you do. He’s so cocky – he thinks he’s Mr Big, but he’d be lost without you. You’re worth ten times that man.’

‘Thanks. Why not tell the whole world?’ Dominique hissed.

She and Fiona had been friends since school. They had gone from sharing Sindy dolls, to Revlon lipsticks, to Louis Vuitton suitcases as their lives had experienced an upward trajectory. Fiona’s had come thanks to a career as a successful divorce lawyer with the sort of celebrity clients she wasn’t allowed to name; Dominique’s courtesy of her marriage to Benjamin.

Fiona’s vehement dislike of Benjamin could be traced back to a brief crush she had for him back when she was twelve and she had sent him a valentine he hadn’t acknowledged. She denied it, of course, but from that moment Fiona had bristled every time he walked into a room. Which had been often, because they were friends with his younger sister, Krystal.

So, her urging Dom to walk out on Benjamin didn’t come as a shock, but Dom would have preferred it if she weren’t so loud about it.

‘You worry too much about what other people think. No one’s taking any notice. Are you?’ Fiona asked Saul, the skinny man in skinny jeans and T-shirt, floating like a butterfly around her hair, primping it to perfection.

‘Hmm? Sorry, I was a world away. What did you say, my love?’ he asked with exaggerated care, putting his hands on her shoulders and leaning down to make a big show of listening intently.

‘See, far too discreet here,’ Fiona smiled, turning her head now. ‘It’s one of the reasons why we pay so much to come here.’

‘And I thought it was because of their incredible ability to make my thin, mousey hair look thick and lustrous.’ Dominique laughed in spite of herself.

‘Look like you’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards? Go to John Robertelli and you’ll be red-carpet ready in minutes.’

‘Probably closer to four hours, once you’ve had the head massage, the deep conditioning treatment, the blow-dry…’

‘Hmm, don’t forget the massage chair. I love having my hair washed while that chair works its magic.’

‘Ooh, get you two. You sound like an advert for us,’ sighed Saul. ‘Can I give you two ladies a top up before Samantha starts on your manicure?’

‘Yes, please,’ said Fiona – as Dominique said, ‘No, thanks.’

Saul looked from one to the other. Dominique caved first, removing her hand from over her glass. Fiona smiled her approval.

‘Perfect. You only live once, and you know this is my big treat to myself.’

Dominique knew Fiona had a point. She worked all hours, thought nothing of working until midnight, then being up at four in the morning, when there was a big case on. Dominique didn’t know how she did it. It made the stay-at-home-mum feel inadequate, even though she knew her oldest friend would laugh if she were to tell her. It said a hell of a lot about their friendship that no matter what occurred in Fiona’s life, she almost always made time to keep this weekly appointment they shared at the hairdresser’s for a pamper, followed by lunch. Fiona often worked all the way through the weekend, so this truly was precious time to the lawyer.

When Dominique was younger she had wanted to be a West End star. She’d dreamed of being pampered constantly, of being the centre of attention. Weekly blow-dries were the closest she was ever going to get now. Besides, Benjamin wanted her to look good for him, and her hair was, she knew, her crowning glory. She multitasked by having a manicure too, so it was efficient use of time.

As Saul sashayed away, Dominique breathed a sigh of relief that his suggestion of more wine had stopped the conversation in its tracks. Gazing out of the window, she saw that the rain had turned to snow, tiny flakes gently zigzagging down to the ground on the breeze. She opened her mouth to point it out—

‘Right, as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted by your paranoia: you should leave Benjamin.’

She should have known Fiona wouldn’t be so easily distracted from her train of thought. Typical lawyer.

‘I haven’t even told you what he’s done yet.’

‘Don’t need to. I can tell you’re upset.’

‘You know I love you to bits but… can we change the subject, please? Benjamin is working really hard at the moment and I’m feeling a bit neglected, that’s all.’

‘Well, you know I’m here for you, no matter what.’ Fiona reached across and squeezed Dominique’s arm. ‘We’re the two musketeers, right? And I know something’s wrong; I just wish you’d tell me what. Besides, you know I’ll give you a mega discount if you do ever divorce him. I could take him to the cleaners for you.’

‘Fiona!’

They giggled as Saul made his way back, brandishing the bottle of white wine.

Dominique wasn’t going to tell Fiona that her husband no longer fancied her. She would pretend that everything was fine – and hope that eventually, it would be.

‘So, how’s your love life, anyway?’ she asked, as the manicurist got to work, putting the first stripe of varnish onto the nail, and pausing for a moment until Dominique gave a single incline of the head to show she liked the deep berry colour.

‘Ha, what love life?’

‘I thought you went on a date on Wednesday night?’

‘Disaster. Complete and utter disaster.’ Fiona took a sip of wine, settling back to enjoy herself, the great raconteur. ‘I met him straight after work, at that restaurant across the river from Tate Modern. You know the one? From the start, he didn’t seem quite as entertaining as I remembered. Where were the amusing stories? Where was the man who had me laughing all night? Then I realised… I was the one who had been cracking all the jokes. I’d been so off my trolley that I’d thought he was funny, but it was me.’

They turned at the same time, to give each other the same awkward look they had been pulling since they were kids and had loved Dame Edna Everage. Lips skewed, perfect scarlet lipstick exaggerating the expression.

‘You can take the girls out of Essex, but you can’t take Essex out of the girls,’ giggled Dominique.

But even as she laughed, Dominique felt a veil of sadness and panic settle over her. She didn’t want to go back to the single life, and going on disastrous dates with strangers. Not after twenty-two years of partnership.

Fiona sighed. ‘I don’t know… I’m not sure I’ll ever meet someone. And to be honest, I’m kind of fine with that. No, really, I’m not playing the sympathy card. Look at my life: I earn great money, I have an active social life, I love my job, I have a lovely home. Someone to share it with would be a bonus, but it’s not the be all and end all, you know? My only regret is… well, you know my regret.’

Dominique nodded. Fiona had always wanted children, but had never found someone to settle down with. She had considered a sperm donor a few years ago, but had eventually decided against it.

‘If I became a single mum by falling pregnant accidentally, that would be one thing, but to actively make that decision… It’s too massive,’ she had confessed at the time.

‘Well, if anything ever happens to Benjamin and me, you get the kids,’ Dominique had joked. But Fiona had filled up, and what had started as a flippant remark had ended with a legal document being drawn up. It was now official; in case of some catastrophic happening, Fiona would become the children’s legal guardian.

It was such a shame Fiona had never met Mr Right, because she would have been a great mum. While her nails dried, Dominique tried to imagine what her life would be like if she hadn’t become a mother. She couldn’t. As a child, she had dreamed of a career on the stage and screen, hitting the big time to become a star. Instead, she was a full-time mum; without her children, she was nothing.

Without her husband, what was she?

---

She still pondered this as she and Fiona linked arms, and left the hairdresser’s to have a late lunch in their favourite restaurant nearby. One of the many things Dominique loved about living in Blackheath village was the plethora of vibrant independent shops and restaurants huddled around a triangle of roads that hugged the open heath. Living near such an expanse of green space, which virtually ran into Greenwich Park, was a gift.

Blackheath didn’t feel like London, despite being a stone’s throw from the Thames, and a hop away from the O2 Arena. The capital’s marathon started in the village every year, and Dominique loved to watch everyone streaming by; it made her feel proud. But Blackheath had a unique personality apart from the city’s hustle: from the expanse of green, where in summer families flew kites, to the pretty church which stood proud on the heath. In its shadow, the shops and restaurants began, spreading out to the pubs that edged the heath. Blackheath was unique.

It had a strong sense of community, too. Only the week before, Burgh Road, the street Dom lived on, had been closed off for a street party. They held one every couple of months, and it was always wonderful to see the children all playing together in the road, the neighbours wandering over to one another to speak, where usually they were hidden in their homes.

Every time she looked around the place she had made her home, Dominique felt content. Doubly so on a Friday. Arms still linked, she and Fiona waited for three red double decker buses to pass, while hard little snowflakes drifted onto their perfectly blow-dried hair, starting to undo hours of hard work. The two women ran across the road, dodging the busy traffic, glossy manes swinging like something from a shampoo advert. Seconds later, they disappeared inside their favourite French restaurant.

As she closed the door, Dominique paused to check.

No one was following her. Of course not. Yet for months now she often felt a prickling unease on the back of her neck, as if someone watched her.