Even if you’re hurt, or in an accident, or something bad has happened, you can send a quick message, can’t you? And they must be together? One of them could send a message? But Alice knew, they didn’t think she was important. They hadn’t meant to make her feel this way, they’d just forgotten to let her know what was going on. The fact was, she thought bitterly, her problems were not of significance to their own. And what problems did Nina have really – problems with her expanding entrepreneurial empire? No doubt she’d been called away to some business emergency or other. True, Jules had had more than her fair share of bad luck, but it would help if she wasn’t working all the time, chained to her phone.

As the train pulled out of Gare du Nord, Alice began composing a text message. An angry message, demanding to know where they were and why they hadn’t thought it necessary to let her know. But she stopped herself. Why should the onus be on her? No. She’d wait. She’d wait to see how long it was until they got in touch with her.

She broke off, staring out of the window, moving closer back to her life in Oxfordshire. How had she felt so full of hope and promise this morning? She felt deflated, crushed by disappointment and the thought of returning home. She’d confronted her unhappiness, but what could she realistically do about it? Ask Ted not to work as much so they could spend more time as a family? Return to work herself, to carve out some independence? Neither was feasible when Charlotte needed so much support.

She returned to her phone and taking a deep, shuddering breath, wrote a message to Mr Hough:

Hey. I’m sorry about my messages this weekend. They were inappropriate. I’m working through some stuff and I shouldn’t have dragged you into it. You’ve only ever been lovely and respectful towards me…

She trailed off, thinking of the photo of him on the beach, water glistening on his carved abs, and gulped.

I hope this doesn’t affect anything between us and you can continue working with Charlotte as she really enjoys spending time with you.

She added ‘She’s got good taste! :-)’ but immediately deleted it. No, she remonstrated with herself.

Instead, she put ‘Alice x’. She paused and deleted the kiss. No kisses.

She looked sadly at the empty seats around her, where her friends should be, and felt a wave of humiliation. Although she was upset with them, she’d half hoped they’d materialise at the station with various apologies and excuses, and she could sulk for a bit but then they could finally catch up on last night and giggle and gossip and for another few hours things could have felt good.

The When in Paris WhatsApp group remained resolutely silent. Where were they? Had they left together on an earlier train? Why didn’t she even warrant a goodbye?

Whatever. She was sick of everything being about them: the years spent worrying about Nina’s drinking, the hours dedicated to Jules’s infertility, all while she felt unable to express her own struggles and when she finally did, they disappeared the next day. This friendship group is a crock of shit, she thought, surprising herself with her language.