"I had her five weeks ago," said Magda, chin wobbling. Knew it was a mistake to combine different species of friends, knew it.
"Do I look that fat?" Magda whispered to me, as if Jude and Shaz were the enemy.
"No, you look great," I said. "Glowing."
"Do I?" Magda said, brightening. "it just takes a bit of time to ... you know ... deflate. Also, you know I had mastitis . . ."
Jude and Shaz flinched. Why do Smug Married girls do this, why? Casually launching into anecdotes about slashings, stitchings and effusions of blood, poison, newts and God knows what as if making light and delightful social chit-chat.
"Anyway," Magda was going on, glugging at the Chardonnay and beaming happily at the friends like someone let out of prison, "Voney said to put a couple of cabbage leaves in your bra - it has to be savoy - and after about five hours it draws out the infection. Obviously it gets a bit manky, with the sweat and milk and discharge. And Jeremy got a bit annoyed about me getting into bed with all the bleeding Down There and a bra full of damp leaves but I feel so much better! I've practically used up a whole cabbage!"
There was a stunned pause. I glanced worriedly around the table but Jude seemed to have suddenly cheered up, is sleeking down her Donna Karan crop top, which revealed a beguiling glimpse of pierced navel and perfectly honed flat midriff while Shazzie adjusted her Wonderbra.
"Anyway. Enough of me. How are things going with you?" said Magda as if she had been reading one of those books advertised in the newspapers with a drawing of a strange 50s-looking man and a headline Does Good Conversation Elude You? "How's Mark?"
"He's lovely," I said happily. "He makes me feel so ..." Jude and Shazzer were exchanging glances. Realized I was probably sounding a bit too smug. "The only thing . . ." I tack-changed.
What?" said Jude, leaning forward.
"It's probably nothing. But he called me tonight, and said he'd met Rebecca."
"WHATTTT?" exploded Shazzer. "How the fuck dare he? Where?"
"At a party last night."
"What was he doing at a party last night?" yelled Jude. "With Rebecca, without you?"
Hurrah! Was suddenly just like old times again. Carefully dissected whole tone of phone call, feelings about, and possible significance of, fact that Mark must have come straight to my flat from the party, yet did not mention either the party or Rebecca till a full 24 hours later.
"It's Mentionitis," Jude was saying. "What's that?" said Magda.
"Oh, you know, when someone's name keeps coming up all the time, when it's not strictly relevant: 'Rebecca says this' or 'Rebecca's got a car like that'."
Magda went quiet. I knew exactly why. Last year she kept telling me she thought something was up with Jeremy. Then eventually she found out he'd been having an affair with a girl in the City. I handed her a Silk Cut.
"I know exactly what you mean," she said, putting it into her mouth and nodding at me appreciatively. "How come he always comes round to your place anyway? I thought he had some great big mansion in Holland Park."
"Well, he does, but he seems to prefer to..."
"Hmm," said Jude. "Have you read Beyond Co-dependency With a Man Who Can't Commit?"
"No."
"Come back to my place after. I'll show you."
Magda looked up at Jude like Piglet hoping to be included on an outing with Pooh and Tigger. "He's probably just trying to get out of the shopping and clearing up," she said eagerly. "I've never met a man who didn't secretly think he should be looked after like his father was by his mother no matter how evolved they pretend to be."
"Exactly," snarled Shazzer, at which Magda beamed with pride. Unfortunately things immediately swung back to the fact that Jude's American hadn't returned her call, at which Magda immediately undid all her good work.
"Honestly, Jude!" said Magda. "I can't understand how you can deal with the collapse of the rouble to a standing ovation from the entire trading floor and then get into a state like this over a stupid man."
"Well, the thing is, Mag," I explained, trying to smooth things over, "the rouble is much easier to deal with than a man. There are clear and precise rules governing its behaviour."
"I think you should leave it a couple of days," said Shaz thoughtfully. "Try not to obsess and then when he does ring just be light and really busy and say you haven't got time to talk."
"Wait a minute," Ma
gda bludgeoned in. "If you want to talk to him, what's the point of waiting three days, then saying you haven't got time to talk to him? Why don't you call him?"