‘That’s not basic, I always buy more than one of something if I like it. I’ve got ten Huda lipsticks in different shades,’ Nina said, and Alice thought to herself that that wasn’t quite the same thing.

She attempted another sip of coffee and winced. ‘So good,’ she muttered, and cursed herself inwardly again. Why wasn’t she honest? Why didn’t she say how she felt around them these days, why did she pretend to like things she hated, like the strong, bitter coffee that Nina kept winning awards for? Give her a cup of tea or a jar of instant any day. She wasn’t sure she was even that excited about Paris any more. When she thought of Paris, she thought about feeling young and vibrant and vital. Would she still belong there now?

At this introspective turn, she had a stern word with herself as she gazed out of the window. You’re with your two best friends, Alice, on your way to your favourite city. If anything is going to make you feel more like your old self, it’s this. Even Mr Hough, the delectable Mr Hough, who was all warm, freckled skin and sun-kissed dirty blond hair, had told her to go when she was having a wobble about it yesterday morning. Warning him that Charlotte might be off-kilter today with Alice going away. ‘Take some time for yourself, Alice,’ he’d reiterated, his sea-green eyes burning into hers. At least he’d finally dropped the Mrs Astor. ‘Alice, please.’ ‘Alice, please.’ ‘Alice, please.’ She’d said it so many times she almost let out a happy squeal the first time she finally heard her name fall from his soft, pink lips. Oh God, she’d fallen for him so hard, why did she have to send those text messages last night?

She put her head in her hands and collapsed her shoulders around her neck, immediately eliciting comforting rubs and squeezes from her friends, soothing words – Oh Alice, don’t worry about the children, you’ll be back before you know it! – which only made her feel worse. She didn’t deserve their sympathy. There’s no way she’d be on this train if she hadn’t wanted to escape, albeit briefly, while the sting of embarrassment still burned on her cheeks. Texting her daughter’s teacher! What had she been thinking? She’d got carried away by thoughts of Paris and romance and the bottle of red she’d cracked open and sunk listening to her favourite French Chill playlist while she packed last night.

She’d been so thrilled she fitted into the black lace dress from Sandro she’d bought in Paris over a decade ago, she’d danced around her room. When had she last danced? She’d applied red lipstick and pulled up her hair, giddy and excited to be going away. She looked in the mirror and for the first time in a long while, she didn’t feel depressed at what she saw. Feeling like a teenager, she took a selfie. It was unfortunate timing that a few minutes later she received an innocuous text message from Mr Hough: ‘Just to let you know I’ve sent back those forms. Hope the packing’s going okay!’