Jo would just have to go to the cinema with her lovely neighbour, Liz, who had seen her through some of the worst times. Women were so much more reliable than men. Pity she wasn’t gay, Jo thought, it would be so much easier. But then gay women no doubt made stupid choices and fell in love with the wrong people just like straight women. Bloody love, she mused, for about the millionth time. We’d be better off without it.

She got out her phone and browsed all the local cinemas. The choice seemed to be between an action adventure or a serious and important film about the plight of the planet. Poor old planet, it was even worse off than she was. She must save more plastic bags. Ah well, she’d go over to Liz’s instead. It would have to be a bottle of fizz and Mamma Mia on Netflix.

She looked outside. It seemed to be rain, rain, rain this spring. Even her daffs were drooping. ‘You look how I feel,’ she told them. ‘Careful,’ she added sternly, ‘talking to yourself is the first sign of madness. If you don’t watch it, you’ll end up a batty old bird!’

She stared out again at the sheets of non-stop drizzle. Looking on the bright side, if the weather stayed like this, at least it might ruin Mark and Amanda’s wedding!

‘Are you ready, Meredith?’ Steph called up to her friend. ‘Everything’s sorted for dinner so we can have all the time in the world!’

Meredith skipped down the stairs, beaming. ‘Will these shoes be OK?’ She pointed at her expensive Tod’s loafers.

‘As long as you don’t fall in the river in them, fine.’

It was a lovely spring day, with a clear blue sky and the promise of a warm sunny walk along the riverbank. Meredith realized she was actually quite excited.

They walked down a path by the side of Steph’s house that meandered from a small vineyard right down to the Savarin River. ‘I wonder if the campsite is still here,’ Meredith mused.

‘What was it called?’ asked Steph.

‘God knows! I haven’t been there since I was twelve.’

‘I think it might be still here,’ Steph suggested. ‘The French are nuts on camping. Some of them come the moment the school holidays begin and stay six whole weeks! That’s why the motorways are all madness at the end of August, for the famous rentrée, when they all go home on the same day. It’s an amazing sight as long as you don’t get caught up in it – like migrating wildebeest! The queues into Paris go back twenty miles.’