‘He’s been bored with Beth for years. Whatever spark they had, it went out a long time ago – that’s what he said. He told me that if she hadn’t got pregnant at university they would probably have split up within a few months. But then Alice came along and he felt like he had to do the decent thing. So they got married instead and she gave up her degree to have Alice and look after her. She was going to go back to finish her course, but it never happened for one reason or another.’

It wasn’t something that Beth had ever spoken to me about, but I knew from what Mel had told me previously that they were married young. Beth had dropped out of her degree in the second year. I couldn’t remember what she’d studied, something arty. It was before I’d met Mel but I had seen the wedding photos once: they looked like a couple of teenagers, Beth in a loose-fitting cream dress to disguise her bump, Ben with a crew cut and glasses, looking like an awkward kid who had borrowed his dad’s suit to go to the prom. They were the first people either of us knew to get married, the first to have a baby by a long way. Alice was fourteen now, a smart and focused teenager who had a maturity that belied her age. Beth sometimes joked that she was a daddy’s girl, but in the best possible way – Ben and she had a closeness, an understanding, that was clear to see when they were together. Most of our peers from school and university – all in our mid-thirties – either had young children in nursery or primary school, or had not even got started on babies yet.

I remembered something from the wedding photos.

‘You were her bridesmaid, weren’t you?’

Mel nodded, head bowed.

‘Maid of honour.’

The irony of that seemed particularly black in the circumstances.

‘Did you fancy him, even back then?’

‘No, of course not.’

‘Why, of course not?’

‘I just didn’t. It was fifteen years ago.’

‘Because he didn’t have four cars and a six-bedroom house in Hampstead?’ It was a cheap shot but I couldn’t resist it.

‘It wasn’t that.’

‘What was it, then?’

‘Don’t do this to me, Joe. I can’t cope with it. If you want me to go, I’ll go, but don’t torture me.’

‘What about Beth?’

She looked up, suddenly.

‘Oh my God, you’re not going to tell her all this, are you?’

‘I don’t know yet. I don’t think so. But you’re going to tell Ben again. Tell him you’re done, that it’s over. For good.’

She dabbed at her eyes with a tissue.

‘Now?’

‘Now.’

She blew her nose again, then took her mobile from her pocket and tapped the touchscreen.

‘No,’ I said. ‘Show me.’