She was right. That was the great thing about being not-young: knowing through practical experience that feelings, even the worst of them, calm down and eventually ease. They’re probably not gone forever—that was another thing I’d learnt: the notion of ‘closure’ is unrealistic. If I’d felt an emotion once, it stayed on file for-ev-er and could be reactivated if the conditions were right—or, more accurately, wrong.

‘What was he wearing?’ she asked.

‘A suit.’

‘Pics?’

‘Claire…’

‘Tight trousers?’

‘Not obscenely so.’

‘Now that is a shame.’ Then, ‘Yeah. Sorry, Rachel, sorry. Anyway! Why would you care about Luke when you’re getting it from Nick Quinlivan on the regular! Sexy man, is Quin, is all I’m saying.’

Even before Claire had met Quin, she’d liked the sound of him. She’d scolded me for writing him off after our first date.

‘He was honest with you,’ she’d said. ‘He made a mistake by cheating on his wife, and now he’s trying to do better. And do you honestly think you’re going to meet someone who hasn’t fucked up at some stage? It’s human nature, we all do it. Give him a chance, would you?’

And, surprising myself, I’d decided I might. There had been a shift in how I felt about myself since the meditation weekend. There was definitely some forgiveness, some healing. That alone made me feel positively towards Quin.

And—unexpectedly—I’d fancied him.

This, I’d discovered when Claire had asked, ‘How would you feel about him pounding away on top, hoofing it into you?’

‘Hoofing it into me?’ I’d winced.

‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘It’s the testosterone gel. Since I’ve started, I think about sex twelve times a second. I guess this is what it’s like to be a man.’

It was a mystery why Claire’s doctor had put her on, of all things, testosterone supplements. It wasn’t as if she’d ever been lacking in confidence. Menopause seemed like a strange country with some very odd practices and I did my best to pretend I’d never be old enough for it.

As it happened, I could well have been perimenopausal, but it was hard to be sure, seeing as I already had several of the symptoms. Insomnia? Step right up! Tiredness? Well, that’s just modern life.

‘So?’ Claire had insisted. ‘The hoofing?’

I’d thought about it and…oooh. Definitely something there.

‘My God,’ she’d declared, vivid with delight. ‘You like the sound of it! You’d better reply the next time he messages you!’

Back in the now, I took a forkful of chips from Claire’s plate.

‘Take them all,’ she said. ‘Save me from the carbs. So, Rachel, if you ever get tired of Quin…’

Oh Jesus, we were, once again, skirting dangerously close to swinger talk. I was so hoping she’d forgotten about it.