Mugwort was her cat. He was seventeen years old and only had three legs, since he’d lost one during an altercation with a Deliveroo bike two years ago. Mugwort had decided, rather wisely, that he would become a house cat after that.

Andrew crossed the room and laid his hand on Nory’s arm. “Nory,” he said. “We’ll have Mugwort, he’s no bother and he knows his way around our place. Go and have some fun! Your shop and your feline will be fine.”

“Andrew, that’s really very sweet of you, but you’ve got enough going on, you really don’t need an elderly, disabled cat moving in.”

“We’ve got Seb’s mother coming to stay for the whole of December. What’s one more cantankerous cat into the mix?”

Ameerah stretched out her long legs and her boots creaked.

“There we are,” she said. “All your stupid protestations have been quashed. You’re coming!” As a barrister, Ameerah was not used to losing cases.

“And what about Guy?” Nory asked.

“What about him?”

“You know what.”

Ameerah puffed out exasperatedly and looked at her perfectly manicured nails. “Well, obviously he’ll be there. Like it or not, he’s one of us. I’ll be on hand as your human shield, but honestly, Nory, he’s not going to be making sleazy jokes about it with his wife there.”

“How can I face Camille? I’ll just burn up with shame every time I see her.”

“You didn’t know he was married, so the shame isn’t yours. If anyone should be burning, it’s Guy. And anyway, that was five years ago!” said Ameerah.

“I don’t see how that’s relevant, Ameerah, it doesn’t become less adulterous the longer ago it happened.”

“All I’m saying is, it’s water under the bridge, done and dusted. It’s not like anyone’s going to remember. And even if they do, they’re hardly going to mention it with his wife there.”

Nory knew full well that her old friends remembered just as well as she did.

It had happened after Tristan’s funeral. The old gang had booked a farmhouse for a long weekend after the wake. They had spent the time drinking and reminiscing and swearing their allegiances to one another. There had been tears and reflections but there had been laughter too. In the early hours of Sunday morning, after far too much wine and hearts heavy with old memories, Guy and Nory had stumbled into her bedroom and the inevitable had happened, multiple times. It wasn’t until they’d come down for breakfast, looking sheepish and beaming in the afterglow of having been shagging for the last six hours, that Charles had informed Nory that Guy was in fact married with two children under five. They’d had another child since.