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look dignified. Still single, not needing to jump into another relationship, and crucially, not alone.
    ‘What colour is the suit?’ If it’s anything other than black, blue or grey, he can’t come.
    ‘Navy, with stripes.’
    ‘Pinstripes or deckchair?’ I narrow my eyes.
    ‘What do you take me for, Viv? It’s a great suit. I look great in it.’
    ‘And you wouldn’t mind coming with me?’
    ‘No, I wouldn’t mind coming with you,’ he says with exaggerated patience.
    ‘Okay, I’ll ask Jane if she minds.’
    ‘She’ll love me! She single?’
    ‘It’s her wedding! Now, you won’t forget that you offered, will you?’ I scowl.
    ‘Nope.’
    ‘I just want you to stand with me, right? No going off chatting up bridesmaids – and if Rob comes over, you’ll have to disappear.’
    ‘Got it.’ He mock salutes.
    ‘Thanks, Max.’ I pat his knee. ‘Thanks a million.’
    ‘You’re welcome,’ he says, smiling goofily. I pick up my glass and finish the wine, and when I put it down, he’s still smiling and staring.
    ‘What?’
    ‘Nothing.’ He looks away, and we sit in silence for a moment.
    ‘So . . . I’d better get back.’ I stand up and kiss his stubbly cheek. ‘Thanks for coming out.’
    ‘I’m looking forward to Saturday,’ he calls as I step out into the sunlight.
    By the time I get back to the office I feel fractionally better. It could be the wine or it could be that I have Max to go to the wedding with, and that is definitely something. Not going to the wedding alone. A step forward. Good. Things seem a tiny bit less disastrous.
    As I get out of the lift I spot Christie in our little work station, and behind her, hanging up on the roller shelves, is a dress. It’s a white and pink dress, and the skirt is made entirely of feathers. She looks up from her non-work-related website.
    ‘You just missed Nigel,’ she says, but I don’t look at her. I can’t take my eyes off the dress.
    ‘Did he make this?’ I’m close enough now to touch the frothy white feathers of the skirt. The bodice is the palest pink silk.
    ‘Yeah. Clever, isn’t he? He said it’s fine if you want to borrow it, but if it gets stained or anything, then you have to buy it.’
    I take down the hanger and hold it against me. I’ve never seen anything like it. Just holding it makes me feel emotional. Everything about it is so well made. The spaghetti straps are satin, and it has tiny buttons all down the back. I feel a little surge of excitement.
    ‘How much would it cost?’
    ‘A thousand.’
    ‘A thousand . . . pounds?’ She nods. ‘Right. Wow.’ I suppose I could just be really, really careful. I mean, it’s a wedding, not a rave.
    ‘But it’s such an amazing dress,’ says Christie. ‘Look at this.’ She brings up Nigel’s website and plays a film of one of his fashion shows. A model bounces down the catwalk wearing the dress with chunky tan heels. The feathers sway beautifully. She looks cool, edgy and not-trying-too-hard sexy. I’m sold. ‘It’s such a beautiful dress. No one else will have ever seen it.’ Christie swivels her chair round to look at me as I hold the dress up to myself.
    ‘Do you think it’ll look all right on me?’
    ‘Take it home and try it on,’ she says. I hang up the dress, imagining walking into Jane’s wedding in it. Could I pull it off ?
    ‘It’s definitely a wow dress, isn’t it?’
    ‘Vivienne, you couldn’t get much more wow,’ Christie says solemnly. She looks into my eyes and we nod in unison.
    At home, three glasses of Pinot down, I’m in the beautiful dress, talking to myself in the mirror.
    ‘Hi. Oh, hi there. I love your dress. This? Thanks, a designer friend made it for me.’
    I do a little dance and join in with Paloma Faith on the iPod. The feathers swish and sway and it feels great. The bodice is . . . shall we say, figure-hugging, but in a good way, I think. The only chunky heels I have are black suede, but they kind of work; they