By contrast, Martin, a financial journalist of some note, had been quiet, wary and thin. He had long since stopped bothering to be sociable, Tessa carrying the day for them both. She and Connie had been best friends at school, managing to keep up their close friendship for a while, until geography, husbands and children took their inevitable toll. But when they did get together, even after long periods with little contact, nothing seemed to have changed between them.

Overcome and feeling close to tears again, Connie said quickly, ‘What have you done to your toe?’

‘Oh, nothing. Just caught it on the edge of the bed, stumbling around in the night.’ She gave a half-smile. ‘I’ve been at such sixes and sevens since Martin died. Bashed up the car – nothing major, but still – locked myself out at midnight, forgot one of my sessions at the bank …’ Tessa was a performance coach, employed by one of the big banks, having trained as an actress and worked in television for a while. ‘I suppose it’s inevitable.’

Connie felt so selfish. Here she was, feeling sorry for herself, when Tessa was dealing with a life-changing bereavement. She mentally shook herself and gave her friend another hug.

‘Right, wine, I think.’ Tessa grinned. ‘And I got one of these delicious caramelized onion tarts for lunch. That deli will be the ruin of me.’

They poured the wine, cut slices of tart, spooned creamy celeriac remoulade onto plates, then settled down to talk, initially relating the bare bones of their last few months. In Tessa’s case, Martin dropping dead one quiet Sunday afternoon in spring from a so-called ‘widow-maker’ heart attack – a huge blockage in the left coronary artery. Connie had heard versions of the story from people at the funeral, but she’d not been able to talk properly to Tessa that day and hear the real account.

‘No warning, Con. We were sitting on the sofa in front of the fire, having our usual rant about the ludicrous bollocks we were reading in the Sundays, when he stood up and sort of gasped, fell back onto the sofa …’ Connie saw the shock still patent in Tessa’s eyes. ‘I tried CPR – I’ve done the bloody classes for my job – but it didn’t work. He never came round.’ She sighed. ‘I always told him the Sunday papers were bad for his health.’

When it was Connie’s turn to speak, she was brief, almost making light of her dilemma. It seemed so self-indulgent. But Tessa immediately saw through her restraint. ‘What the hell are you going to do?’

Connie shrugged. The wine and Tessa’s sympathetic ear had loosened her grip and she felt herself giving way to self-pity.

Before she could compose herself, Tessa said, ‘Devan will get over it. He adores you. A single mistake in a marriage as long as yours shouldn’t be a deal-breaker.’