Sarah came rushing in late, as I’d known she would. I’d finished a glass of wine by then and was chatting to the Italian barman about the best places to visit in Florence. As I listened to the way he talked about the food there I mentally added it to my list of places to go to live.

“Well, you look happy enough,” she said, sounding a bit resentful. She gave my empty glass a pointed look. “You’ve made good use of your time while you were waiting for me.”

I thought of the chances of Sarah getting there early and drinking water while she waited. Neither of those things would ever happen. “Did you think I’d sit and cry?” I beckoned the waiter. “Here, have a glass of wine and cheer up.”

She slid off her jacket and climbed up onto the barstool next to me. “I shouldn’t really have this,” she said. “I’m a bit hungover. It was book group last night.”

“Good night?”

“Yeah, it was great. Shame you stopped coming. We were talking about The Goldfinch. You would have liked it.”

“That’s odd, I’m reading that book at the moment.” I knew, though, that nothing I thought would add to the conversation. I’d been to the book group a few times and really enjoyed it. We took it in turns to go to one another’s houses each month and the hostess would make snacks and provide drinks. After a few months it was my turn to host. I was so excited; ridiculously excited, really. It was only a book group, but I’d seen it as my chance to make new friends. I was starting to feel as though my world was closing in on me. Tom had greeted the women, poured drinks, and I’d thought he’d enjoyed having them there. He wasn’t taking part in the discussion, and I hadn’t realized he’d been listening in until they’d gone.

When I shut the front door behind them at the end of the night, I was just thinking what a great time I’d had. Tom came up to me and put his arms around me and said, “Did you have a good night?”

I smiled and kissed his cheek and said, “I had a lovely time, thanks.” I went into the living room to take the plates and glasses into the kitchen.

He followed me to help, then said, “Ruby, I hate to say this to you, but you should let the other women talk more in the book group.”

I stopped dead in my tracks. “What do you mean?”

“It’s just something I noticed, sweetheart. You were talking a lot more than they were.”