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can’t recall that Martin actually has them. Travis lurches for my penne, having wolfed his spaghetti, and I deposit a few forkfuls into his bowl. Pre-single parenthood – and assuming that none of my kids was in the vicinity – I’d have relished every pervy detail of Millie’s sex life. At least it offered a stark contrast to mine, and reminded me that being naked with someone could be fun. For several years mine and Martin’s sex life had felt like something that had to be attended to every so often, like clearing leaves out of the gutter. These days, now that I am no longer a sexual being, I don’t wish to be reminded that every other adult on the entire planet – apart from my mother and Sam – is indulging in fabulous rumpy on a regular basis.
    ‘Anyway,’ Millie says, stopping herself mid-flow, ‘what have you been up to?’
    ‘I did a stupid thing at the weekend,’ I admit. ‘Remember how Martin couldn’t take the kids to Thorpe Park because he was going with – I flick my gaze at Travis ‘– you-know-who?’
    Millie nods and pops a sliver of fish into her mouth.
    ‘I went anyway, with the kids and Sam. We ran into them. It was so awful and I’m such a bloody berk …’
    She clasps a hand over mine. ‘Oh, sweetie, what did you do that for?’
    ‘I don’t know.’ I prise the pepper-grinder from Travis’s grasp.
    ‘You’re not a berk, Cait. You feel pissed off and angry, and that’s fine – that’s
allowed
– but you’ve got to stop obsessing over—’
    ‘I don’t obsess! Why does everyone think I’m obsessed?’
    ‘OK. Listen, I know what you need …’
    ‘Don’t set me up,’ I hiss at her. ‘I’m not interested.’
    Over the past few months, Millie has attempted to match me up with various males. Sad and desolate scenes with one or both of us desperately trying to dredge up excuses to go home.
    ‘I’m not talking about men,’ Millie cuts in. ‘I mean work. A new job. That thing you do, writing about arse disorders and stuff – it can’t take up all of your time …’
    ‘It’s not just arse disorders,’ I say defensively. ‘I do health features and daily tips for the site.’
    ‘That doesn’t sound too arduous.’
    ‘I don’t want arduous,’ I say, laughing. ‘I only work part-time, remember?’
    Millie flicks a glance at Travis, who is extracting a lightly nibbled penne tube from his mouth.
    ‘Don’t want it,’ he grumbles.
    She winces as I pluck it from his fingers and casually drop it on to my plate. ‘Wouldn’t you like more work? Something to take your mind off … all the Martin stuff?’
    ‘Not really. I don’t want to put Travis in nursery more than two days a week.’
    Her look says, ‘Why ever not?’
    She really doesn’t get it. Most women need to earn a living, and even those who don’t tend to yearn for something more challenging than swilling out lunch boxes and pairing up children’s socks – even if it only amounts to writing about foul breath and haemorrhoids. Yet we still want to spend time with our kids, despite their shoddy table manners.
    ‘Here’s a suggestion,’ Millie announces. ‘Harriet’s been ill for a couple of months now, and my PA’s virtually been doing her job for her, sorting through all the letters and emails and choosing the five she needs for her page every week. To be honest, she’s not too happy about it. I mean, it’s not in her job description …’
    ‘Which page does Harriet do again?’
    ‘Problem page. Agony aunt. You know, Distraught of Durham, Pissed off of Penzance …’
    Ah, yes. I remember: ‘Can’t you find it in your heart to forgive your philandering swine of a man? The poor darling couldn’t help himself.’
    ‘I’m sure I’ve told you about Harriet,’ Millie rattles on. ‘She’s the loony who’s always chopping bits off herself and sending them away for analysis.’
    ‘Ugh, which bits?’ I hope this won’t prove too gruesome for Travis’s tender ears.
    ‘Her hair, I