I can see it inscribed on our tombstones: He said the fan heater was perfectly safe to use. One more thing to add to the menopausal worries currently piling up in my head.

‘Mum, there’s Maeve!’ Izzy announces, snapping me back to the present as she spots her best friend across the street. Maeve and her mother, Jules, wave to us, and we cross the road to join them.

‘Hey, we were hoping to see you on the way,’ Jules says as the girls fall into conversation and scamper ahead. ‘What’ve you been up to?’

‘Just pottering about really,’ I reply. ‘How about you?’

‘We decided to go down to the caravan at the last minute. I know it sounds mad at this time of year but Erol was determined to get away for a few days.’

Ah, lovely Erol, Jules’s husband, who makes no secret of the fact that he adores her and is always festooning her with compliments. She seems to think this is entirely normal, to be expected in a marriage. Maybe it is?

‘Bet it was lovely,’ I say, at which Jules chuckles. Jokingly, they call their static mobile home The World’s Most Disgusting Caravan although, from what I’ve seen, it looks pretty idyllic with its faded green decking and hanging baskets, and views of Lake Windermere.

‘I’d never say it’s lovely,’ she says, ‘especially now it seems to have developed a leak right over our bed. But we had fun, didn’t we, Maeve?’

‘Yeah.’ Her daughter looks back and grins. ‘We built a fire by the lake and cooked sausages on it.’

‘Wow, in February?’ I exclaim.

Jules smiles. At forty-two, she looks even more youthful than her years with her wiry body and boyish crop. I guess her look would be described as ‘elfin.’ If I had her hairstyle it would be more ‘stout, angry man.’

‘You know what Erol’s like,’ she goes on. ‘Never deterred by bad weather. Anyway, it was lovely to be away, especially as I have a pretty full-on time coming up.’

‘Plenty of clients at the moment?’ I ask.

‘Yeah, and I’m starting some new classes too.’

I nod, and a thought starts to form. Before I knew her, Jules was something very important in banking. Burnt out and disillusioned with corporate life, she chucked all that in and now has several strings to her bow: yoga teacher, caterer and … life coach. I know Andy regards coaching as a silly indulgence for the privileged few, but, frankly, who cares what he thinks? If I booked a few sessions, perhaps some of Jules’s qualities might rub off on me. Perhaps I’d be less … amphibious.

‘D’you have room for any more clients at the moment?’ I ask as we approach the school.

‘You mean, for someone you know?’

‘Erm, not exactly …’

‘You mean for you?’

‘I do, actually,’ I say.