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even though she denies it, she has real problems with that. It’s not always easy, but I know she loves me. Let’s just leave things as they are.”
    “You sure?”
    “I think so.”
    “OK, hon. But if you change your mind, you only have to say.”
    “I know. Love you.”
    “Love you, too.”
     
     
    I got home and put the kettle on. While it was boiling I texted Josh. He was about to catch a flight home from Sydney, where he’d been giving a series of lectures on the latest techniques in treating childhood leukemia. I was due to pick him up at Heathrow the following evening. Hey, J, hope final lecture went well. Can’t wait to have you back. Safe journey. See you Heathrow Terminal 3. Love you forever and ever and then some. T XXX.
    I spent the next few hours lying on the sofa, drinking mugs of tea and reading case notes. When I’d finished, I got some cheese and crackers and ate them in front of Antiques Roadshow . By half past nine I was thinking about having a bath and an early night.
    I’d just gotten out of the tub when I heard my mobile going. Without even grabbing a towel I ran to get it. I thought it could be Josh phoning from Sydney to say there had been a delay. Naked and dripping on the carpet, I pressed CONNECT.
    “Oh, Tally, I’m so glad I reached you.” It was my best friend, Rosie, sounding more than a tad hyper. “I don’t suppose you happen to have a cabbage?”
    “Er . . . not on me, no.”
    “Look, I know it’s late, but you couldn’t possibly bring one over, could you? I wouldn’t ask, but it’s a real emergency.”

Chapter 2
    “ I don’t get it,” I said to Rosie. “How does a person have a cabbage emergency? What are you doing, bulk pickling sauerkraut?”
    “Duh. It’s for my breasts.”
    “Of course. That explains everything.”
    “Actually, it does, and if you were a nursing mother, you’d know that. My breasts are hot, red and engorged with milk. I’m in agony. I think I’ve got mastitis. Cabbage leaves help relieve the pain and swelling.”
    “God, you poor thing. OK, I’ll be straight over. I’ll pop into Tesco on the way.”
    “You sure you don’t mind?”
    “Rosie, you’re a two-minute drive from me. Of course I don’t mind.”
    Rosie Thomas had been my best friend since university. She started off in the law department with me, and we hit it off straightaway. We bonded over Friends , the X-Files (with particular reference to David Duchovny, after whom we both lusted) and the fact that we shared the same liberal political views.
    After about a week, she realized law wasn’t for her, and she changed to modern history. Even though she wasn’t in my lectures and tutorials anymore, we would meet up for coffee or lunch with the other girls who had joined our gang. The other great thing about Rosie was that she could cook and she used to have us over to her student house and fill us up with homemade spag bol and chili. Even now she loved to cook, although she hadn’t entertained much since having Ben. She still kept piles of cookery books on her nightstand, though, and there was rarely a night when she didn’t share her bed with Jamie Oliver or Gordon Ramsay.
    The gang stayed friends and were still in touch, but Rosie and I were particularly close. Rosie was the first of the group to get married and have kids. She was also the first to split from her husband. Last year, when she and Dan came for Christmas lunch, I could see they weren’t getting along, but I had no idea—and nor did Rosie, who was pregnant with their second child—that he was having an affair.
    Eventually she found out and Dan left her for his new love. Her name was Becca, but Rosie only ever referred to her as “the Tart.”
    These days Rosie was a single mother of two. Ben was four now and—as Nana Ida would say—a total nosh. Two weeks ago she had given birth to nosh number two: a nine-pound, one-ounce, black-haired, blue-eyed baby girl named Isobel.
    Even now I missed those times