Whichever, a few weeks ago Em had rashly taken the plunge and asked George if he’d like to join them for the break. As soon as she said the words, she knew it was too much, too keen of her: ridiculously short notice, for starters; he surely wouldn’t be able to get time off work and must already have his own plans for the summer. So she’d been both thrilled and astonished when instead he’d said yes.

‘He said yes!’ she had whooped down the phone to Jenny, unable to believe her good fortune.

‘Wow, that’s brave,’ her sister replied, in a voice that meant ‘Wow, that’s insane’. ‘And you’ve been seeing each other for, what? Three whole months? How well do you actually know this man?’

‘Five months,’ Em corrected her, stung by this palpable lack of excitement. ‘And I wouldn’t say it’s brave,’ she felt compelled to go on. ‘More like, when you know, you know. And I just know.’ Did that sound smug and annoying, when Jenny and her husband were constantly sniping at one another and lived in a permanent state of acrimony? Em didn’t care, she discovered. In fact she hoped it did sound smug and annoying, seeing as Jenny was being so damn unenthusiastic about the whole holiday business, when if she’d been any kind of supportive sister, she’d have been cheering her on with pom-poms. ‘Besides – it’s a fortnight in a very nice barn conversion in Cornwall, with a pool,’ she’d added scathingly. ‘It’s not as if we’re trekking across the Sahara together. What could go wrong?’

‘Er . . . you decide you hate him? The kids hate him? He hates you?’ Jenny suggested with naked unhelpfulness.

‘Thanks for your support. Ever thought about volunteering for the Samaritans?’ Em had replied, before hanging up and making a loud growling noise, as she often seemed to do following their sisterly conversations.

She rolled her eyes now, remembering Jenny’s pessimism, and stuffed her hiking boots into a plastic bag. Damn it, but it had almost been the perfect getaway, as well! Two weeks with her wonderful new man, two weeks of waking up together every morning, blissful days in each other’s company, not to mention the even more blissful nights she’d been imagining. George was the reason she had ceremoniously ditched her sensible, years-old one-piece swimming costume with the baggy elastic for some flattering new bikinis (she could just about get away with them if she didn’t breathe out). And you bet she was packing all her frothy new undies, with their lace, ribbons and hand-washing instructions too. Into the case also went some sensual massage oil and bubble bath, followed by a rather slinky satin dressing gown she’d bought recently, which, when it wasn’t screaming ‘Fire hazard’, was most definitely pouting, ‘Come and get me.’