o come on, fill me in on all the gossip.” Alice leans forward on her chair, nursing her cappuccino as Emily tries to unravel Humphrey’s leash from the chairs and coffee tables.

“Hang on,” Emily says. “Humphrey!” She drags the little terrier reluctantly back to the table, knowing that, this being a warm sunny spring Tuesday in Primrose Hill, it is only a matter of minutes before yet another dog strides past their outside table at Cacao, and Humphrey—a newly acquired rescue dog from the local animal shelter with a distinct lack of training—makes a mad dash to say hello.

“For God’s sake, Humphrey!” Emily picks him up and puts him on her lap. “Anyone would think you’d never seen another dog before.”

“How’s the training going?”

Emily and Humphrey have enrolled in Doggie Dos and Don’ts, a local obedience class that meets on Hampstead Heath for an hour every Sunday morning, armed with a clicker and a pocketful of treats.

“Great. As long as we’re in the living room in the flat, he’s the best-trained dog I’ve ever had.”

“You’ve never had a dog before.”

“Exactly. Although he does sit when I tell him to when we’re at home, and we’ve nearly mastered down as well. Watch.” Emily puts Humphrey back on the pavement and says sternly, “Sit. Humphrey, sit.” Humphrey looks at her, then turns around and starts sniffing the table leg. “Oh, fuck it,” Emily sighs. “Humphrey, you’re hopeless. If it wasn’t for Harry, I wouldn’t bother going to the class at all.”

“Ah yes. Harry. So how is the sexy dog trainer?”

“Sexy. And distracting. Which is probably why Humphrey’s so crappy at following orders. I spend most of the class focusing on Harry’s lips.”

“Just his lips?”

“Well, no, but”—she lowers her voice and gives Humphrey a sidelong glance—“I wouldn’t want to corrupt Humphrey too much.”

“So has anything happened yet?” Alice had heard all about the first lesson, how Harry had repeatedly singled Emily and Humphrey out for demonstrations to the rest of the class, how Emily had flirted outrageously and been rewarded with several glances that lasted just a few seconds too long and a long conversation at the end of the class that had rapidly left the subject of dogs and moved swiftly into the personal.

And then, the following week, Harry had asked if anyone was interested in going for a coffee after the class, and given that most of the class had already left by the time he asked, and that the only people still around were Emily and an elderly man called Lionel, it was pretty clear that he was interested in getting to know Emily better.

(“I always knew I should have got a dog years ago,” Emily had said, after their third date. “Just think, if Humphrey and I had met ten years ago I’d probably be married by now with a swarm of screaming children around my feet.”)

“Has anything happened? What on earth can you mean?” Emily asks.

“What on earth do you think I mean? Have you slept with him?”

“Of course I haven’t slept with him!” Emily shrieks in mock horror, immediately lowering her voice as the Primrose Hill wannabes break off from their conversations on their mobile phones to look at her with interest. “He’s lovely. I’m not going to screw it up by jumping into bed with him this early.”

“So what have you done?”

“Lots of snogging and a bit of feeling up.”

“Feeling up top or feeling up bottom?” Alice grins, knowing that the only person in the world she could possibly ask a question like this, be as childishly silly with as this, is Emily.

“Feeling up top, of course,” Emily says. “There won’t be any feeling up bottom until I’ve had my legs waxed.”

“You still haven’t had them waxed? That’s disgusting!” (Alice, who goes to the waxing salon every six weeks without fail, has never understood how Emily can go for months without touching her legs. “Why bother,” Emily has always said, “unless I’m having sex? Of course you have to do it because you have a husband who expects smooth thighs, but the only person I sleep with on a regular basis is Humphrey, and frankly, as far as Humphrey’s concerned, the more hair the better, the more he relates to me.”)

“But I think I may have to make an appointment this week.”

“So D-Day is approaching?”

“I think the time is nearly here for me to relinquish my born-again virginity.”

Alice bursts into laughter.

“It’s all right for you,” Emily says crossly. “You think it’s funny because you can have sex whenever you want. All you have to do is roll over and prod Joe in the stomach.”

“Yes, because there’s nothing guaranteed to warm up my husband more than a good sharp prod in the stomach.”

“From what I’ve heard, Joe has a permanent erection anyway.” Emily was making a joke, but it falls flat, floats uncomfortably for a while in the silence as the smile is wiped off Alice’s face and the color in her cheeks quickly fades.

“What do you mean?” Alice says icily, as Emily wishes she could take the words back, wishes she’d never said anything, not that she knew where it came from anyway. But she knows there are certain subjects about which she has to be sensitive, and Joe’s priapism is clearly one of them.

“I was joking,” Emily says softly. “I just meant you always used to say that Joe’s always up for it, that was all I meant.”

They both know that’s not true, not now, not anymore. Once upon a time, when they were first married, Alice did say exactly that. How can a man want this much sex? she’d ask Emily in amazement, after the nights when Joe had rolled over in bed and made love to her twice, three, often four times.

“I don’t know, but if I were you I wouldn’t question it.” Emily had groaned in jealousy. “Just be bloody happy you found him.”

Now, five years on, months go by when Joe barely touches Alice. Alice has tried everything. She has spent fortunes on sexy, lacy underwear from La Perla, then tried the other extreme and—she shudders with embarrassment when she remembers how desperate she was—attempted cheap nylon crotchless panties and even a maid outfit from Ann Summers.

She has tried talking dirty to Joe, stroking his thigh softly as she whispers in his ear what she would like to do to him, blushing furiously as she speaks, then having to deal with the humiliation when he doesn’t move, continues to pretend to sleep.

She even phoned Ty and told him she was planning a hen night for a friend, and they thought it would be a laugh to get some porn films, did he know where she could get them, or would he get them for her? She had ended up watching them on her own, masturbating miserably and wishing she’d invested in a vibrator that time she’d been to Ann Summers for the underwear.

Joe claims it’s the pressure of work, sheer exhaustion that’s killed his sex drive, and the alternative is too terrible for Alice to consider. She knows that at some point it will come to an end, that one night he will come home with flowers, or jewelry, and he will kiss her and put his arms around her and say a major deal has come to an end, and that night they will go to bed and have sex all night, and Alice will pray that she has her husband back for good.

Alice looks at Emily, sees how innocent her remark was, and forgives her. Emily would rather die than do anything to upset Alice, and Alice knows that.

“It’s okay,” she says finally, after an awkward silence, the color slowly returning to her cheeks. “Don’t worry about it. As it happens, the last few weeks he has pretty much had a permanent erection. It’s lovely. For once I’m thrilled to have these bags under my eyes.”

Emily laughs with relief as Humphrey starts to bark at a Rhodesian ridgeback walking past. “Poor Humphrey. He needs to have a run around. Shall we take him for a walk?”

At the mention of the word “walk,” Humphrey starts to leap up and down in a frenzy, and the two girls laugh as they unravel him yet again and set off.

Alice strides ahead, loving that she’s not dressed up, that when she’s with Emily she doesn’t have to put on an act, she can wear her oldest, most casual, comfortable clothes, and really be herself. Her jeans may be Earl, but today she’s wearing her gym sneakers, a Gap sweatshirt, and a baseball cap pulled down tight over hair scraped back into a ponytail. She can really walk in these clothes, can sit with her legs apart, resting her elbows on her knees, can run and play games with Humphrey, scooping him up for a cuddle without worrying that he might be getting mud on—heaven forbid—a Chanel jacket or a shearling coat.

They walk up the hill, stopping every few minutes to watch Humphrey excitedly greet other dogs. Emily chats away to the owners, sharing Humphrey’s story, explaining how she went to the shelter with the intention of getting a cat but fell in love with Humphrey and ended up with him instead, while Alice watches the dogs with a smile, offering Humphrey treats when he comes running back to her.

“God, I envy you,” Alice says, as they pause on the top of the hill to watch the people flying their kites. “This is so wonderful, to be able to come here every weekend and do this.”

“You envy me?” Emily starts to laugh. “Look at you, Alice. You live in a fantastic fuck-off house in Belgravia while I’m in a tiny one-bedroom flat in Camden. You have a husband while I’m still miserably single and my only permanent Mr. Right is Humphrey. Not to mention the fact that you lead the most glamorous lifestyle of anyone I’ve ever met, whereas my idea of a glam night out is Marine bloody Ices on Chalk Farm Road. Plus you’ve actually been in Tatler, and the only time I’m in the paper is on the rare occasions when they bother to print my by-line. How can you envy me?”

“Because you have so much freedom. You can do the things you love, whenever you feel like it. You can come to Primrose Hill every day of the week if you feel like it, and walk Humphrey, and talk to people, and go wherever you want to.”

“And you can’t?”

“No. I can’t.” Alice shakes her head. “I can’t have a Humphrey because our lifestyle isn’t conducive to a dog, it wouldn’t be fair. We haven’t got a garden, we live in town, and we’re always out. Joe hates animals.”

“I remember. He hated Molly and Paolo, didn’t he?”

“God, did he hate them. My poor babies. He pretended to tolerate them until he proposed, and then it was the cats or him.” Alice sighs. “At least I found them a good home. I suppose I have to be grateful for small mercies.”

“Didn’t we always say never trust a man who doesn’t like animals?”

“Don’t remind me,” Alice sniffs. “But animals aside, Joe would never do something like this. He can’t see the point in walking for the sake of walking. Actually”—she laughs—“I think he’s completely allergic to nature.”

“God. And you were the girl who thought she’d end up living in a thatched cottage in the Cotswolds. Weren’t you supposed to have horses and chickens?”

“Yup. And weren’t you supposed to have married a millionaire?”

“Yup. Shit. How did you end up living my life and I end up living yours?”

“Good point. Wanna swap?” Alice smiles.

“Only if I can keep Harry.”

“Nope. If we swap you have to have Joe and I get to have Harry.”

“You’ve never met Harry, how do you know you’d even like him?”

“A man who trains dogs for a living? I’m in love with him already. How bad can he be?”

“So can I ask a question?” Emily pauses and stops to look at Alice. “Just why exactly did you marry Joe?”

It’s a question Alice has asked herself many times over the years. When he’s loving and kind, she thinks she knows why she married him, but when he’s distant and distracted, she has absolutely no idea.

Even when he’s being the perfect husband, Alice is forever questioning her life, because she knows that Emily is absolutely right, she has not ended up with the life she daydreamed about.

On a good day she is quite happy. Can find her lifestyle fun, amusing despite its superficiality (of which she is well aware). Can appreciate the trendy restaurants, the beautiful people, the endless round of cocktails and canapés. Looks at her husband and thinks he is the most wonderful man in the world, is happy just to be by his side.

On a good day she thinks that daydreams are just that: daydreams. That if they were ever to come true they wouldn’t be nearly as wonderful as the fantasy.

On a bad day she wants to run away. Wonders whether she could make it on her own, thanks God there are no children as yet (again, that is Joe’s doing, Joe wanting to have at least five years together to enjoy themselves as a couple, to be able to take off to Italy, or Spain, or France whenever they feel like it, without having to worry about the responsibility of children).

The five years is now up, and Alice is waiting for the right time to broach the subject of children, because thirty-five is already far older than she wanted to be as a first-time mother, and she knows that time is not on her side.

On a bad day Alice thinks about just upping and leaving, taking one suitcase with her, the barest essentials, and going to live in the country somewhere, getting as far away from this world as she possibly can.

She lies in bed those nights when Joe is absent, emotionally or physically, and dreams of divorce. She doesn’t cry, not anymore, just lies there thinking about another Alice, an Alice who isn’t a trophy wife.

When Joe first took her out, when he took her to the best restaurants, lavished her with presents, cuddled her in the mornings and told her she was cute, she felt as if she had stepped out of her rather dull life and into a movie.

Everything suddenly became so exciting that she left the old Alice behind without a second glance, didn’t think she needed the old Alice anymore, didn’t think she was the old Alice anymore.

“Joe loves me.” Alice turns to Emily, trying to justify her marriage. “And I love him.”

“Is that enough?”

“I don’t know. But I think right now it has to be.”

Sometimes Emily knows she just has to back off, and this, quite clearly, is one of those times. She swiftly changes the subject. “So I can’t believe you’re going to meet Harry! I’m so nervous! Where do you think we should go for dinner?”

“Would you come into town even though it’s on a Saturday night? Should we go somewhere special?”

“Of course we’d come into town, just as long as it’s not too expensive. Dog trainers aren’t investment bankers, you know.”

“I know, I know. Of course it won’t be expensive. Let me have a think and I’ll let you know.”

“Hi, darling.” Joe phones while Alice is crawling along Baker Street, sitting in the car at a standstill while throngs of shoppers rush from Selfridges to Marks & Spencer, intent on a bargain. “Where are you?”

“Nearly home. I’ve been with Emily and Humphrey.”

“That’s nice. I’m just phoning to say that tonight’s canceled. Eddie’s got flu. Do you want to go anyway? Just the two of us?”

“You know what I’d really like? I’d really like it if we stayed home tonight. I’ll make something lovely for dinner and we can have an early night.”

“Sounds perfect,” Joe smiles. “There’s nothing I like more than an early night with my wife. I’ll be home by eight. I love you.”

“I love you the most.”

“I love you the most.” Alice smiles.

“Okay.”

Joe laughs, and puts the phone down, turning to watch a pair of long legs cross the office floor. A tall woman, perhaps in her early thirties, glides in front of his desk, golden hair in a tight chignon, voluptuous curves squeezed into a fitted chocolate-brown suit. She has a mixture of sensuality and confidence, and absolute knowledge that every man on the floor is watching her, given away only by the fact that she refuses to take her eyes off the middle distance as she disappears out of the double doors to the lifts.

“Je-sus.” Joe swivels round in his chair and lets out a long, low whistle. “Now who was that?”

Dave looks up from the phone just in time to see the back of the blonde before the double doors swing shut. “That is the new office ball-breaker. Josie Mitchell. Used to run Risk Arb at Goldmans, is here to be COO of Equity Capital Markets.”

“That’s Josie Mitchell? Christ, I always pictured her as a frump. She’s not the new office ball-breaker, my friend. Did you see those legs? She’s the new office babe.”

Dave raises his eyes to the ceiling. “You mean Joe Chambers’s new office babe. Careful, Joe. She’s not some bimbo. You want to be careful with this one. You know what the Goldmans bonuses were last year, so you know we must have paid a fortune to tempt her over here.”

“Maybe she heard there was a better class of man at Godfrey Hamilton Saltz.”

Dave snorts with laughter. “She’s not some bimbo you can screw and forget. That’s all I’m saying. Be careful.”

“Careful? It’s my middle name. Anyway, I have no intention of screwing her. I’m a reformed man, not to mention a married one. Which reminds me”—Joe checks his watch and picks up the phone again—“I have to call the travel agent before I leave.” He punches the number in and sits back on his chair.

“Jackie? Hello, darling, it’s Joe. Did you manage to get a room at the Lygon Arms? You did? Oh, that’s great, you’re an incredible woman, did anyone ever tell you that before?”

“What’s this?” Alice looks down at the white envelope Joe has just slid on to her pillow. They have feasted on minted lamb salad and tabbouleh, on succulent fresh raspberries and homemade vanilla ice cream. They have drunk a 1990 Bordeaux and two espressos each. They have undressed in the privacy of their dressing rooms and have met again in bed, where Joe has smiled his come-to-bed smile and reached out for her to come into his arms.

And now Joe is lying on his side of the bed reading the Financial Times, and Alice is lying on hers, reading the latest novel that everyone is talking about.

“Open it.” Joe puts the paper down and watches her with a smile.

Alice tears the envelope and pulls out a brochure for the Lygon Arms and a faxed piece of paper confirming a reservation for two in the Charles I suite for Friday, April 15, and Saturday, April 16. The coming weekend.

“What’s this for?” She’s smiling.

“For us to have a romantic weekend away. I thought you could do with a rest from our hectic London life, and I know how much you love the country so I thought I’d surprise you.”

“Oh, it is lovely.” Alice grins and rolls over to kiss him. “What a lovely, lovely surprise. I can’t wait. Oh no.” She groans, remembering that Saturday night is dinner with Emily and Harry. “What shall I do about Saturday? Emily and Harry.”

“Cancel them,” Joe says. “They won’t mind.”

“But I’m always canceling Emily,” Alice says, “and she’s so excited, and anyway, I want to meet Harry. Can we change our booking? Could we go the weekend after?”

“Absolutely not. I’ve already arranged everything and I’m not changing it.” Joe crosses his arms. “I’m telling you, Emily will understand.”

“No. She always understands and I promised her I wouldn’t do it again. We won’t be able to go.”

“Alice, you’re being completely irrational. If we canceled now we’d still have to pay for it, which is crazy. I’m not going to cancel it.”

“Okay. Then let’s bring them with.”

“And who’s going to pay for it?”

“You are. This will be my birthday present.”

“Your birthday isn’t until May.”

“I know. Consider it an early gift.”

“Alice, the point of this weekend is to have time together.”

“But you love Emily, and anyway, don’t we always have much more fun when we’re with friends?” This last isn’t strictly true in Alice’s case, but she knows that Joe is almost always happier in a crowd, and sure enough, Joe shrugs in agreement.

“Go on then,” he says, seeing how happy it makes her. “You can phone her tomorrow.”

“I hope they come,” Alice says happily. “They haven’t even had sex yet. It might be a bit awkward.”

“They haven’t had sex yet? Well, this will be a golden opportunity for them. She ought to be paying me, not the other way around.” Joe folds up the paper and stretches over to turn off his bedside light.