We had ordered food and were waiting for starters of mussels and scallops and tomato galettes. Normally the conversation flowed when we got together: work and children and schools, reminiscences about university life in Bristol, our shared house as an inseparable gang of four, parties and nights out.

But not tonight. Jennifer had barely said a word to Rowan all evening and I couldn’t hold on to the thread of any conversation for more than a few minutes before my mind started wandering again, looking for clues in what each of them said and how they seemed. Izzy was valiantly keeping things going with one of our standing jokey tales about the first time we had gone for a meal in a restaurant as freshers at university. That night, she and I had gone to the ladies and when we returned the other two were already on their way out of the door, giggling drunkenly. It was only when we were halfway down the street that Rowan admitted they had run out without paying the bill – at which point I had marched them back to the restaurant and insisted that we paid up.

‘Nice that Rowan has got us a table near the exit so she can try her usual trick,’ Izzy said with a smile. ‘Old habits die hard, eh, Mrs James?’

Rowan held her hands up.

‘I can assure you, that was the first and only time I’ve ever done that.’ She gestured at me. ‘Couldn’t bear to be shamed again by Mrs Goody-Two-Shoes here.’

I looked at her, trying to smile, trying to think of something to say, but all I could think of was her whispering in Sean’s ear at the beach this afternoon. Hugging him for just a little too long.

‘Shame you?’ I said with a tight smile. ‘I wouldn’t dare.’

Rowan sipped her drink, giving me a quizzical look.

Izzy raised her glass suddenly. ‘We should have a toast,’ she said.

‘To what?’ Rowan said.

‘Being forty?’

‘Oh God, really? That’s way too depressing.’

‘Forty is the new thirty, according to Oprah.’

‘How about a toast to all of us being together again?’

We clinked glasses and drank. Icy champagne bubbles bursting against the back of my throat usually reminded me of my wedding day, that first beautiful glass before dinner as Sean and I circulated among our guests, newly married, basking in the afterglow. But tonight it tasted bitter.

I put my nearly full glass down on the table.

Jennifer took the tiniest of sips and sat back with a frown.

‘What is it, Jen?’ Izzy said. ‘What’s up?’

‘I’m still a bit freaked out, that’s all.’

‘Oh. Sure, right.’

‘After what happened with the boys this afternoon.’ She turned to Rowan. ‘Why you didn’t tell us about the gorge?’

‘I’m so—’