‘You’re the only person I know here.’ She butted me with her hip. ‘Lucky we met, eh? None of the other Weight Watchers seemed to have turned up, the old so-and-so’s.’ Gripping my arm, she pushed our way to the tea table. ‘That Victoria sponge shouldn’t go to waste.’

People glared as she grabbed two paper plates. With the skill of a professional she loaded them up and steered me into a corner. I wondered whose car was blocking me in and if I could make an emergency announcement.

Pam lowered her voice. ‘I know you’ve been going through a hard time. I have to admit that I was slightly miffed to learn about it from the neighbours. But I’m not the sort to bear a grudge so let bygones be bygones. I’m just so glad we’ve met today so we can clear the air.’ She took a bite of cake. ‘The important thing is, I’m here for you now, sweetheart, now you’re on your own. Cup of coffee, trip to the garden centre, you name it. I was thinking of going to Brent Cross this Saturday for some Christmas shopping, want to come?’

This encounter filled me with panic. How could I escape my persistent new friend? If I could imagine a life worse than living alone it was a life with Pam in it. From her windows she had a clear view of my house. Now bygones were bygones she was poised, ready to pounce, when I emerged. Would I like a glass of wine? A trip to the cinema? Home-made Anzac biscuits were left on my front step. I tried to keep the shutters closed but then Pam would ring up to ask if I was all right. She asked me to supper, ‘just us girls and my signature lasagne’, and I could hardly pretend I was busy when she knew I was at home.

So I went. After all, I was hardly in a position to sneer. I was as lonely as Pam; this was to be my life, from now on. Those three possible men had faded back into the general population as if they’d never existed. Azra and Greg had gone. After their initial sympathy, most of my friends had stopped phoning. I didn’t blame them; I was hardly the best company. Nowadays, it seemed, Pam was as good as I was going to get. She wasn’t even one of those single women who had slipped through the net; Greg and I had hardly known her, and had never set foot in her house. We’d laughed at her, you see—poor fat Pritt-Stick Pam in her beige cardigan and beige shoes, still a virgin, still living with her mother and all those cats, nothing to do in her life except sit behind her net curtains, poised for an Ocado van to park in the disabled bay.

How smug we were! Looking back, I can see that we were the very people I’ve been condemning. Smug and patronising. Smug and married. Ha! Silly me.