“My family didn’t do divorce,” said Annie. “I mean, that’s not the only reason I stayed, but my mum and dad had me when they were much older and they were very religious; they believed for better or worse like it was an actual law.”

“Screw that,” said Sally.

Annie sighed and rubbed her temples.

“I don’t know,” she said. “It was just too complicated to leave Max. And I guess a part of me was too proud to admit that I’d failed.”

“You failed?” Sally spluttered. “This is classic learned behavior derived from societal misogyny.”

“Blimey!” said Annie.

“Unbelievable!” Sally was on a roll. “He breaks his vows, and you’re the failure? This is why we need feminism. Women have been programmed since the dawn of time to take responsibility for men’s failings. Stop shouldering the blame for your husband’s shortcomings. In fact, let me just take that from you right now.”

Sally leaned across the table, grasped Annie by the shoulders, and then let go, throwing her arms up into the air with a flourish as if she were batting away a hornet.

“There!” said Sally. “I hereby remove all feelings of failure associated with your husband’s roaming penis.”

Sally dusted her hands off over the side of the table, ceremonially removing any remnants of blame.

“Right!” she said. “Gone. What’s next?”

Annie gawped. It was the strangest thing, but she actually did feel as though an invisible weight had indeed been removed.

“You’re amazing!” said Annie.

“Far from it,” said Sally. “I’m just aware of the things I don’t have control over. One of them is my legs, the other is people’s behavior.”

“You should do public speaking,” said Annie.

They ordered more drinks and some olives and bread to share; Annie, never normally one to miss a meal, realized she hadn’t had dinner and was beginning to feel the effects of the house wine.

“So, are we talking classic ‘shotgun wedding’ here?” asked Sally, spearing an olive with a cocktail stick.

“Pretty much,” said Annie. “I had to have my dress let out three times before the wedding and, even then, I looked like I was smuggling two bear cubs under my gown. Twins,” she said as way of an explanation.

“How old were you?”

“Seventeen,” said Annie.

“Wow!” said Sally. “Married at seventeen! How very twentieth century of you.”

“What about you?” asked Annie.

“I was twenty-five the first time,” Sally replied. “He was thirty. We had a good run, until he started an affair with his podiatrist, silly sod. Joe, my eldest, was five when we divorced. And then I met Pete on a single parents’ holiday in Corfu. It was all a bit of a whirlwind: marry in haste, repent at leisure, that sort of thing. And then along came Susan.”