Foursome by Jane Fallon

on holiday with Isabel than him?’
    ‘Why not? He’s the one who’s ruined everything. Look, just cancel the holiday, OK?’ I say, turning over so my back is towards him. ‘We can go somewhere else, just us and Zoe and William. Maybe take the girls along too. But no Alex. And no Lorna.’
    ‘Fine,’ he says in a way that makes it clear that it’s anything but fine.
    ‘Whatever,’ I retaliate, channelling Zoe.
    The next morning we get ready in huffy silence. We still walk to the tube station together as we do every day and I wait until I’m about to disappear underground, leaving him to catch his bus, before I say, ‘Don’t forget to cancel the holiday,’ and then I practically run off before he can respond.
    The upshot is this. Dan calls Alex to let him know the holiday is about to be cancelled. Alex says, hold on a minute, I still want to go and, by the way, I’m taking Lorna. Dan, being Dan, says fine. He calls the travel company and tells them it’s going to be two adults only. No children, no Dan and Rebecca Morrison.
    ‘So,’ he says to me as I’m cooking dinner that evening. ‘It’s all sorted out. Where do you want to go instead?’
    He comes up behind me and snakes his arms round my waist, his way of trying to end our dispute. I’m not playing, though.
    ‘We can’t go anywhere,’ I say. ‘I can’t have the same week off work as Lorna. So now the childless couple gets to go away in half term and we get to do precisely nothing because we can’t take the kids out of school.’
    ‘Shit,’ he says, ‘I didn’t think of that.’
    ‘No,’ I say. ‘You didn’t, did you?’
    Actually, Lorna being out of the office for a week turns out to be as good for me as having a holiday. I don’t edge along from Piccadilly tube station every morning, my shoulders hunched up around my ears. I can relax knowing that for a whole week there’s no question of dinner or a trip to the pub or a cosy night at home with the four of us.
    Dan and I suddenly remember why we like each other so much and cuddle up on the sofa in front of the TV contentedly. Just the two of us. Neither of us mentions Alex or Lorna for fear we’ll break the spell.
    At work, I have no doubt, I am less defensive, less inclined to sulk. Without question more productive because without Lorna there to play Phone Wars with I answer each call happily, on the first or second ring. I can’t be helpful enough.
    Isabel has taken the girls to Cornwall for the week. She calls me to tell me that I would love their hotel because it’s run by someone who used to be a children’s TV presenter in the 80s and that he still wears his trademark red glasses and uses his catch phrase – fabbo! – at every opportunity. She is amusing herself by refusing to acknowledge that she knows who he is, which, she says, he is clearly waiting for. As the days go by, he is becoming more and more frustrated and saying ‘fabbo!’ way more often than necessary. Soon, she says, he will no doubt produce the battered old kangaroo puppet who used to be his sidekick and then probably break down and say, ‘Don’t you remember me?’ and start crying. I laugh and ask her to take a photo if he does.
    Otherwise, she says, to be honest, it’s depressing. It’s great watching the girls having a good time but some adult company in the evenings wouldn’t go amiss. Once the twins are in bed there is nothing to do but sit in the adjoining room and watch TV.
    ‘I may become an alcoholic,’ she says, and she laughs, but I know she’s miserable.
    ‘I might join you,’ I say.
    We promise to meet up as soon as she gets back.
    ‘Say hi to Dan from me,’ she says as she rings off.
    ‘OK,’ I say. ‘Bye.’
    Melanie and Joshua are being very secretive. They keep closeting themselves away in one or other of their offices for ‘talks’. If I didn’t know better, I’d think that they had a thing going on. Actually, that’s not such a ludicrous idea. I suspect that he