‘Just a minute,’ I croaked, and dashed into the hall to pick up the phone.

‘Yes?’ I said. From where I stood, I could see Johnny examining the photo of me and Greg on the fridge.

‘Ellie, it’s me, Gwen.’

‘Gwen,’ I said idiotically. Then, to cover up, I said it again, neutrally, as if I was explaining my identity to the caller: ‘Gwen here.’

‘What? This is Gwen.’

‘Yes, I know.’

‘Can I come over?’

‘What? Now?’

‘The thing is, it’s Daniel, and I wasn’t going to confide in you because of, you know, everything, but then I thought it wasn’t fair on you or me, because after all -’

‘Hang on. Sorry. Listen. You have to come over, of course you do, but give me half an hour.’

‘If it’s a problem…’

‘It’s not.’ Fuck, was he going to look at the postcards now? ‘Half an hour, my dearest friend. Got to go. ’Bye.’

I slammed down the phone, but picked it up again and left it off the hook so nobody else could call. Then I tore back to the kitchen.

‘I can’t be long,’ I said to Johnny, putting my hand on his shoulder so he turned away from the postcards on the window-sill. ‘Come and sit in the living room to finish your wine.’

‘Who’s the guy you were with in that photo?’ he asked, as we sat down – he on the sofa and me in the chair, and oh, no, no, no, the chart on the table just beyond him. Couldn’t he see? Even from here, Milena’s name, in capitals and neatly underlined, throbbed in my field of vision.

‘Someone I used to know.’

‘He looks familiar. Could I have met him?’

‘No.’

‘Is he why you’re so evasive?’

No point in beating round the bush. ‘Yes. I’m sorry, Johnny. The thing is – and I should have said this before – I’m not ready for another relationship.’

‘So that’s it?’

‘Yes,’ I said.

‘You think you can behave like that and get away with it?’

‘I didn’t mean to hurt you.’

‘You’re all the same,’ he said, standing up. Now he was even nearer the chart. I willed him to look my way and he did, resentment burning in his eyes.

‘I’m not coming back to work,’ I said. ‘It was all a mistake. So you won’t have to see me again.’

‘I felt sorry for you. You seemed so sad.’

‘Johnny…’

‘I thought you liked me.’

‘I do.’

‘Women are so good at pretending. Like her. Milena.’

‘I don’t think I’m like Milena in any way,’ I said. ‘We’re opposites.’

‘That’s what I thought, too, when I met you,’ he said. ‘Maybe that’s why I liked you – you seemed calm and kind. But I was wrong. You’re both actresses. You take on roles.’ I stared at him, panic flowing through my veins. ‘I’ve seen the way you are with Frances – Ms Capable. You led her on and made her depend on you; she thinks you’re her friend. Milena could do that too, be all things to all people. Everything was a mask. You thought you’d got a glimpse of the real Milena and all of a sudden you understood it was just another mask. I’ve never forgotten one time when she was talking to a very nice Muslim man about Ramadan, which had begun that very evening, and he was explaining how he couldn’t eat after sunrise or before sunset. She was so sympathetic and intelligent about it that I thought I was seeing a new side to her. Then an hour or so later, when we were together at my flat, she went on this extraordinary rant against Islam and its believers. She was so witheringly contemptuous of the man she’d been so sweet to. It was like a window into her soul.’

‘Johnny…’

‘I said to myself then that I should kick her out, that she would only bring me grief. Of course I didn’t, though: she stayed all evening and all night and I made her eggs Benedict for brunch.’ He laughed bitterly. ‘Never believe women. Especially when they’re being nice to you.’

‘That’s not fair,’ I began. But I didn’t have time to argue with him. Gwen was on her way, the real Gwen. ‘You should go,’ I said.

‘I haven’t finished my wine.’

‘I really think you should go.’

‘Let me cook that meal for you.’

‘No.’

‘You’re lonely and I’m lonely and at least we can give each other -’

‘No,’ I said. ‘I haven’t been fair. We can’t give each other anything.’

‘Dumping me, dumping Frances, moving on. That it?’

‘Stop it,’ I said. ‘We weren’t married. We slept with each other twice. It was a mistake. I apologize. Now you have to go.’

He put his glass down on top of the chart. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘Right.’ He stared at me. ‘You’re not how I thought you’d be.’

Three minutes after Johnny had left, Gwen arrived. She burst into tears on the doorstep and I pulled her into the house, shut the door and hugged her until her sobs subsided. ‘I’m such an idiot,’ she said.

‘What’s he done?’

‘Nothing.’ And she gave a long, disconsolate sniff.

‘Come and tell me about this nothing. I’ll make us supper, unless you’ve eaten already. Wine? I’ve got an open bottle.’

‘Thanks.’

‘Tell me, then.’

‘He was with this woman for ages and she went off with one of his mates. It took him ages to get over it. You’ve met him – he’s such a big softie. Anyway, she got in touch with him because that relationship’s over. He’s with her now, “comforting” her. I think she wants him back.’

‘He told you all this?’

‘Not the last bit.’

‘Does he want to go back to her?’

‘He swears it’s me he wants. But I don’t know whether to believe him. You know my luck with men. Can I have a tissue?’

‘Help yourself. Here’s your wine.’

‘Am I being an idiot?’

‘Who am I to say? All I’m sure of is that he’d be an idiot to leave you – and by the sound of it he’s being totally straightforward with you. Plus he seems pretty devoted to you.’

‘Do you think so?’

‘All I know is what he looked like to me: kind, honourable, besotted.’

‘Yes. Sorry. I don’t know what came over me. I was sitting alone in my flat and suddenly I couldn’t bear it.’

‘I understand.’

‘It’s been so nice, being in a couple.’

Gwen gave me a hug. We chinked glasses. I cooked the chicken and divided it between us with a bag of salad leaves. It was rather a tiny meal for two emotionally drained and ravenous women, but we finished off with the mango and lots of chocolate bourbons, then sat on the sofa together with my duvet over us and watched a DVD before I called a cab to take her home.

I woke with a start and looked at the clock beside me. It was just past three. I must have been dreaming about Greg, because I had an image of him throwing grapes into the air and trying to catch them in his mouth but they spun everywhere. Perhaps what Johnny had said about fasting at Ramadan had prompted it. It had been a comic dream, but happy. I lay in the dark and tried to hold the picture in my mind.

I woke again at five. Something was bothering me, a wisp of a thought I couldn’t get a hold of. Something I had seen? Something someone had said? And just as I stopped trying to remember, and sleep was pulling me down again, it came to me.

I got out of bed and pulled on my dressing-gown. It was very cold in the house. I went to the computer and turned it on, and when it came to life, I Googled ‘Ramadan’. I knew it always took place during the ninth month of the year; this year it had begun on 12 September.

How long did I sit there, staring at the date? I don’t know, perhaps not so long. Time seemed to slow right down. At last I went into the living room and stood in front of my chart. Johnny’s empty wine glass was still on top of it. I took it off and looked very carefully at all the grids. My breath sounded loud in the silent room. I went to the drawer of my desk and pulled out the menu card Fergus had given me, stared at the date at the top and at the scrawled message: ‘Darling G, you were wonderful this evening. Next time stay the night and I can show you more new tricks!’

The evening of 12 September was the one and only time that I knew for sure Greg had been with Milena. But now I also knew he hadn’t, because she had been with Johnny.