o what did you think?' We're driving back home, and much as I hate to admit it I'm actually far more worried about what my friends thought of Ed, but I won't be able to get the low-down until tomorrow morning, so in the meantime I want to know if Ed liked them, if he approved, if he can see them fitting into our lives.

'It was a great success.' He smiles indulgently at me.

'No, I meant what did you think of my friends?'

And it suddenly occurs to me that this is an important conversation. That before now I would quite happily have sacrificed my friends for a man, but that I would never dream of doing that now, and that Ed's opinion matters far more than I ever dreamt. And not because I want him to like them, but that whatever he says will be a reflection of who he is, and that if he doesn't get it right, if he fails to approve, I'm not sure I'll ever be able to see him in the same light again.

'Oh, they were great fun,' he says finally. 'Especially Amanda. I definitely approve of Amanda.'

'It's not about approval, Ed,' I say slowly. 'It's about liking the people whom I love. And Amanda isn't exactly a friend, more of a work colleague, and the only reason you liked her was because you both know so many of the same people, and that's probably because Amanda's such a bloody networker.'

'Libby! That's not nice.'

'Sorry,' I mutter. 'But it's true. Anyway, what did you think of Olly?'

'I didn't really talk to him,' Ed says truthfully, 'so we'll have to have him over for dinner, I think. Soon.'

'Yup, okay. But he's nice, isn't he? Is he what you expected?'

'I didn't expect anything, and he seems awfully nice.'

'What about Sal and Paul? Did you like them?'

'Well,' he pauses. 'I'm not sure I'm that happy about you being friends with tabloid journalists.'

'What? Are you serious?'

'Well, yes. I wouldn't mind if they were on the FT, but their paper's such rubbish. I don't think they're, well, suitable really.'

I can feel an argument coming on.

'What do you mean, suitable?'

'Darling, I'm not sure I trust them, that's all.'

'But you don't even bloody know them.'

'Don't swear at me, Libby.'

'Sorry. But they're two of the nicest people I know. I can't believe you're judging them by their jobs. And their paper isn't exactly sleazy, plus they don't do news, they don't doorstep people or anything like that.'

'Still,' he says, looking quickly at me. 'Oh, maybe you're right. I'm just being a judgemental old fuddy-duddy, but I do have to say I was very surprised that you are friendly with someone like that Nick fellow. How on earth do you know him?'

'Nick. Not that Nick fellow.' My voice is becoming more and more strained.' I know him through Sal. Why?'

'Ah,' he nods. 'That makes sense.'

How dare he. How dare he. How dare he.

'What. Makes. Sense?' The words, if Ed bothered to listen, are dangerously slow coming out of my mouth.

'He's terribly scruffy. So unkempt. Not the sort of person I'd have thought you'd associate with at all.'

'But you hardly said two words to him.'

'But Libby, please. Look at the chap, what does he think he looks like? Those shabby clothes, and as for that business about being on the dole… I think it's best if you don't see him again.'

'I can't believe you're saying this. I can't believe you're sitting here' — incidentally, I'm now spluttering with rage — 'I can't believe you're trashing my friends. And most of all, I cannot believe how incredibly superficial you're being. You have judged all my friends either by their appearance or by their jobs, and I would have thought that you are old enough to know better. Evidently unlike you' — this last bit said through gritted teeth — 'I choose my friends because of who they are, and not because of how much money they have or which bloody public school they went to.'

I run out of steam then and sit there shaking with anger, and we don't say a word to one another the whole way back.

There have been times, in the past, when I've introduced boyfriends to friends and my friends haven't liked them, and I've been furious with those friends, furious with them for not seeing what I see, for having the temerity to tell me the truth, and yes, I've fallen out with people over it. But this time I can't see a grain of truth in what Ed is saying. I cannot see that my friends are bad people because they don't have as much money as he would like, because they do not dress in immaculate designer clothing, because they do not socialize with Binky and Bunny fucking Donnell.

And as we get out of the car outside Ed's house, I wonder whether I'm being too hard. Whether perhaps Nick's clothes are a bit shabby, whether Sal and Paul are perhaps not altogether my cup of tea, whether it would be a huge hardship for me to cut them out of my life, and the truth is that I really don't know. I don't know whether to compromise on this and try to forget about it and accept that they are not the sort of people the wife of Ed McMahon should be socializing with. I just don't know what to think any more.

We get undressed in stony silence, and, after I have climbed into bed and turned my back to Ed, he says he's sorry.

I ignore him.

He touches my shoulder and I shrug off his hand, and he says, again, that he's sorry.

'I didn't mean to hurt you,' he says. 'And you're right. I was wrong. I've been far too judgemental. Libby, my darling, I really am sorry.'

And I turn to him and there are tears in his eyes, and I can see that he is sorry, so when he starts stroking my leg I accept his apology, but I don't feel anything. Completely numb. And when he thinks he's done enough foreplay and is ready to enter me, I still don't feel anything. And then he's inside me, pounding away on top of me, and this time I don't think about walking down the aisle, I just lie there with a strange pain in my chest, and this pain moves higher and higher, and suddenly I'm crying.

Huge, great heaving sobs. Like a child. And I push Ed off and run into the bathroom, locking the door, and look at myself in the mirror for a long time.

I have never felt so lonely in my life.

Despite myself, as soon as I get to the office the next morning I pick up the phone and ring Sal.

'Well? What did you think?'

'He's lovely!' exclaims Sal, and I start to relax.

'Really? You liked him?'

'He's very charming. Of course. You two look good together.'

'God, Sal. I am so pleased to hear that.'

'Why? Did you think I wouldn't?'

'No.' Yes. 'It's just that it's important to me what my friends think.'

'Did he like us, then?'

'Yes! He thought you were lovely!' And as I say it I recognize the insincerity. My voice has exactly the same inflection as Sally's.

'I'm ringing up to thank you for last night.' Why do I suddenly feel that Nick is playing a larger and larger role in my life? I mean, it's over. Finished. I'm getting married to someone else, yet suddenly I seem to be speaking to Nick, or seeing him, far more often than ever before.

'Did you enjoy it?'

'It was lovely to see you,' he says warmly. 'Especially looking so glowing and happy.'

'Am I?' I'm surprised. I never dreamt Ed had that effect on me.

'Very much so,' he laughs. 'You're really going through with this?'

What does that mean? 'We haven't set the date yet,' I say. 'And it doesn't really feel real at the moment.'

'I suppose you're waiting until you've got that rock on your finger for it all to sink in,' he says in a strange tone, which can only mean one thing. He's jealous. But then it hits me, what he's just said. The ring.

Oh God. The ring. The diamond that will make it all true. The diamond that will mean there's no going back. Because suddenly I'm not so sure, and suddenly I remember Jules's words: that this isn't about falling in love with love, or wanting to get married for the sake of being married, or getting excited about walking down the aisle, or living in Hanover Terrace, or any of those things. This is about spending the rest of my life with Ed, and as I think that I remember last night, and how I felt looking in the mirror, and I feel an icy dagger of fear splinter my heart.

No. I'm not going to think about this. I wrap the dagger in a fantasy of white ivory lace, and surround it with images of my vast designer wardrobe, and start to feel slightly better.

'Just how big do you think the rock should be?'

'At least five carats, Libby.' Nick sounds exasperated but jokey, like he used to. 'And that's just the one in the middle. It will basically have to be so big, no one will be able to look at your finger without wearing sunglasses.'

I chuckle. 'That sounds like the one for me.'

'So you're really going to do it?' he says, sounding suddenly serious.

''Course!' I say indignantly. 'I don't go around getting engaged to every man I meet.'

'You're telling me,' he laughs.

I want to ask Nick what he thought of Ed, but I have a horrible feeling that Nick will tell the truth, which is why he hasn't volunteered the information himself, and I don't want to know. As far as I'm concerned my doubts are just pre-wedding nerves, but even so I don't want anyone else to corroborate them.

It isn't as if I shouldn't be nervous. Surely every bride feels this way? Aren't there people who become completely terrified the night before the wedding, who, despite being madly in love, suddenly doubt that they're doing the right thing? That's all that these feelings are, I realize with relief. It is perfectly natural for me to be doubting this. Everything's going to be fine.

Jo runs in and tells me Sean Moore's here for the meeting, so I say goodbye to Nick and spend the rest of the morning talking to Sean Moore, his agent and Joe Cooper about his publicity campaign. I do well. I think they're all happy with the work I've been doing, and when we're finished there's a message from Jules.

I don't call her back. Not yet. I go out for lunch with Jo and try to forget about everything, because right at this moment I feel that it's all getting a bit much for me. So we go to the Italian cafe and order milky cappuccinos, and tuna salad on toasted baps, and we sit there and gossip about everyone at work, and by the time I step back into the office at half past two I feel human again.

So when Jules calls again mid-afternoon I'm in a good mood, and I'm totally unprepared for what she's about to say.

'Libby, you might hate me for saying this, but after last night I've just got to.'

'Go on. What is it?'

'Look, I'm only saying this because I love you and I don't want to see you make a mistake.'

'Get to the point, Jules.'

'Okay, okay. The thing is, I'm just really concerned that you haven't thought this through. You've been swept up in a whirlwind of excitement, and I'm worried that you haven't actually thought about the reality of it.'

'Jules, you've said all this to me before. I know what I'm doing.'

'Okay, fine. But I'm going to say it again, and I really want you to listen to me. Marriage is for life. It's not just about having a spectacular wedding day, it's about spending the rest of your life with that person, for better or worse. You can't just turn around and decide you're not compatible and walk away. What about children? If you have children Ed will want to send them to Eton, and would you really want your children brought up away from you? There are so many other things to consider, and I'm just so frightened that you haven't thought this through.'

I start to feel sick, and immediately jump on the defensive. 'What about you, then? If marriage is for life, how come you keep saying that Jamie has to suffer and you don't know whether you'll take him back? If you really believe what you're saying, then you'll do anything to save your own marriage, and that includes forgiving Jamie.'

There's a long silence, and then I hear a catch in her throat as she says softly, 'I'm trying.'

'What?'

'I do believe what I just said, and all I've been thinking about is that I have to find it in my heart to forgive him, because I love him, because he's my husband, and because I don't want to live without him.'

'Thank God,' I practically scream.

'That doesn't mean everything's fine,' she says slowly. 'It's not, and I don't know if it will ever be fine again, but I'm going to tell him to come home.'

'Yes!' I punch the air. 'Thank God you've seen sense.'

'Libby,' she says, 'stop changing the subject. You need to know that marriage is not a fairy-tale. This has been the most nightmarish fucking thing that's ever happened to me, but I'm willing to work at it.

'Look,' she continues. 'I'm not saying that Ed's not for you, or that you can't marry him, but all I'm saying is you have to have more time. Marriage isn't easy. God knows I know that now. Anything that's irritating you slightly now will magnify a thousandfold once you're married. I think you need to be very sure. You need some time out on your own to think about this, to think about spending. The. Rest. Of. Your. Life. With. Ed.'

There's a silence while I digest what she's just said, because, even though she's said it before, it never hit home. I came up with arguments to refute it, but now I see that she's right. That this, marriage, means I'll never have another flirtation again. I'll never be with anyone else again. I'll be sleeping with Ed, and only Ed, for the rest of my life. And I remember last night again, and I exhale deeply.

'Libby? Are you still there?'

'Yes.' My voice sounds small. 'I think you're right.'

'I'm not saying this isn't it,' she says, sounding relieved, 'I'm just saying you need to be one hundred per cent sure.'

'I know.' My voice still sounds small. 'So what do I do?'

Jules tells me to tell Ed I've got a pitch coming up, and that everyone will be expected to work late for the next few days, and that I'll miss him desperately but I need to prove myself with this one because since I've met Ed I've barely concentrated on work, and if I don't do this I'll be in big trouble.

And as she says it I know that even though it's going to be difficult to tell him — I can already see his sad puppy-dog expression — it's a vaguely credible excuse, and she's right, I don't need weeks to think about this, just a few days on my own.

'Jules? Thanks. Really.'

'Don't be ridiculous. That's what best friends are for.'

But I still feel nervous as hell as I'm driving over to Ed's that night. I have nothing with me. No set of clean underwear, no change of clothes for tomorrow, no makeup bag, and I can see that Ed notices this as soon as he opens the door.

'Darling? Where are your things?'

I can't lie, I can't tell him they're in the car, and, even though I hadn't planned on saying this quite so soon, I haven't got much choice, have I?

'I'm not staying tonight,' I say, and, predictably enough, he looks crestfallen.

'Is something the matter?' I can already see the fear in his eyes, and a wave of sympathy sweeps over me.

'Don't be silly, darling. Nothing's the matter. But I'd love a cup of tea.'

Anything to stall for time.

We go into the kitchen and as I sit at the counter in silence Ed turns to me and asks worriedly, 'There is something wrong, isn't there?'

'I already told you. No. There's nothing wrong. It's just that I'm in big trouble at work, and we've got a pitch coming up and I'm going to be working really hard the next few days, so I don't think I'm going to be able to spend much time with you.'

Ed is visibly relieved as he puts the tea in front of me. 'Is that all, darling? Don't worry about work. I'll look after you anyway and you know I won't want you working once we're married, so why don't you just hand in your notice?'

'I love my job,' I say indignantly, suddenly realizing that, at the moment, I do. 'I don't want to give it up quite yet. Although,' I add as an afterthought, 'it's very sweet of you to offer. I feel that I need to prove myself with this. You do understand, don't you?' I sip the tea.

'I suppose so,' he says sadly. 'But I will see you, won't I?'

'God, I hope so,' I lie, reaching up and giving him a kiss, then pulling away just as I feel Ed getting passionate, because the last thing I want is to have sex tonight. I look at my watch. 'Jesus, I've got to get back. Everyone's working late tonight in a frenzy.'

'You mean you're going back to the office now?'

'I'm so sorry, darling,' I say, grabbing my bag. 'But they'll sack me if I'm not there. You'd better not call because the switchboard will be closed, but if there's anything urgent I'll leave the mobile on. I'll call you tomorrow,' and I give him another peck and run out the door.

I catch Marks & Sparks off the Edgware Road just as they're about to close, but the security man is taken in by my pleading looks and winning smile, and he lets me in with a shake of his head.

Freedom. I feel free. I can eat whatever I want tonight, and I'm going to be in my flat for the whole night and refuse to answer the phone. I'm going to do what I want, when I want, and already I feel as if a load has been lifted. For the next few days I am completely free.

I run down the aisles throwing things in a basket. Mini pitta breads, taramasalata, hummus, olives. I chuck in a packet of smoked salmon and some mini chicken tikkas. Fuck it. I'm having a blow-out. I hesitate over some vegetables, then decide they're far too healthy, so it's back to the deli section via the party section, where I can't help but be tempted by some gorgeous looking canapés.

And I dash up to the one remaining till that's open, and while the girl adds up my stuff I grab a handful of chocolate bars and add them to the pile.

Then back in the car and on to Ladbroke Grove, but not before stopping at the video store. And while I'm in the video store trying to decide between Sleepless in Seattle and Sleepers, my mobile rings and Ed's number flashes up on the screen. I press the busy button on the phone, and poor Ed gets my answer phone, and I know it's mean, but I don't want to have to deal with him right now. I just want to be on my own.

I choose Sleepers. The last thing I need is to watch a slushy romantic love story where the hero is gorgeous (if you're into Tom Hanks, that is, which I happen to be), and I whizz off home via the off-licence, where I treat myself to a very expensive (that means more than £4.99) bottle of claret.

Home. Wonderful, fantastic home. As I'm unloading the bags the phone rings, and I hear Ed's voice on my machine.

'Sweetieloviedarling, I tried your mobile but you're not answering. I just wanted to ring and say that I miss you and I love you and I can't wait for us to get married. Don't worry about work, and I'll call you tomorrow. I love you very, very much.'

'Fuck off,' I mutter, as I pop the chicken tikka in the microwave to heat it up.

And the phone rings again.

'Libby, darling. It's Mum.' As if I didn't know. 'You're obviously out, probably having a wonderful time with Ed. Dad and I were just saying we hadn't heard from you for a few days and wondered how you are. Perhaps you and Ed would like to come over for supper next week? Oh well, you know how I hate talking into these little machines. If you don't get back too late give me a ring. Well. Ah. If you come back. If not, call me in the morning. Bye, bye, darling.'

'And you can fuck off too,' I shout, my mouth full of pitta bread, as I gather up my food and collapse on to the sofa.