She smiled into space and sipped her drink.

‘Hi, Bron!' said Sasha. 'Bet you didn't expect to see me!’

Bron forced a smile. 'No. I don't expect you thought you'd see me, either.' It was interesting that Sasha seemed quite at home among all these high-flyers, but perhaps owning a salon raised your status somewhat.

‘Oh, I knew you were coming.' Sasha looked at Bron in a knowing way that made Bron feel as if everyone was in on a secret except her. 'Roger said he'd bring you.’

Bron looked at Roger, who was looking perfectly comfortable. Sasha and Roger knew each other slightly, she knew that. But she didn't know that Roger had spoken properly to Sasha, ever.

‘Don't look so stricken,' said Sasha. 'I phoned him about putting an ad in the cricket programmes.'

‘That's right,' said Roger. 'Local advertising is very important to us. If we could get a sponsor for the kit..

‘Well, that's good,' said Bron, quietly but more firmly than usual. 'If your cricketing chums come to the salon, I won't have to cut their hair for free.'

‘Bron?' said Sasha teasingly. 'You're not moonlighting, are you?'

‘I cut Roger's mother's hair and any of the WAGs who do teas for me when I'm on the rota.' Sasha didn't know about Bron's recent spate of weddings; Bron really hoped Roger wouldn't say anything.

‘Why don't you tell her to book an appointment at the salon?' said Sasha, still smiling to imply she was joking, but there was the usual edge to her voice whenever she spoke to Bron. 'We haven't got so many customers that you can afford to give out freebies!’

Bron smiled back. She knew perfectly well that Sasha meant every word and, for once, she had the perfect answer. 'If Roger's mother came to the salon, she couldn't guarantee to get me. She might have to make do with one of the other stylists.' Bron made an I'm-a-ditzy-girl expression, but she meant what she'd said just as much as Sasha had.

‘Oh, Mum wouldn't mind who she had to do her hair,' said Roger, missing all the undertones. 'It doesn't matter to women of that age what they look like.’

Even Sasha seemed a bit horrified at this, although she had made that really ageing suggestion for Bron's client.

‘Well, you know what I mean,' he went on. 'A bit of a snip here and there, it can't matter who does it.'

‘So who cuts your hair, Roger?' asked Sasha.

'Bron,' he said, getting slightly pink.

‘I can tell. Come and see me next time you want it cut. I could do things with hair like that.' Sasha gave him a look that excluded everyone else present.

‘Oh, please do,' said Bron. 'There's a really tricky bit where he's going a bit thin. You might be able to do something clever to disguise it.’

Roger stared at her, his mouth slightly open.

‘Sorry,' went on Bron, her inner bitch still off the leash, 'didn't you know you were going a bit bald? It's perfectly normal, you know, as you get older.' Then, aware that she might have gone a bit too far in asserting herself, she said, 'I feel a bit hot. I'm just going into the garden for some air.’

No one in the group objected to her leaving, she realised as they made way for her. The back doors of the pub opened on to large gardens that led to a small stream. Bron abandoned her empty glass and walked out into the fresh air. Then, her heels piercing the grass with every step, she headed to where she could see willows weeping picturesquely into the water. She pulled her pashmina around her shoulders to help keep off the midges. Once she could stare into the water she would feel calmer.

She'd have to go back in eventually, she realised, but she really didn't want to. They weren't her sort of people, they were Roger's, and they made her feel like the child on the edge of the group in the playground. She was not exactly ostracised, but she wasn't included, either. And when did Roger get so friendly with Sasha? It wasn't that she felt jealous, but she was confused.

She wrapped her arms around her and rocked a little, trying to sort herself out in her mind.

The glow of a cigarette drew her attention to the group of trees nearby. She'd just taken in that she wasn't alone when the smoker spoke.

‘Sorry, did I startle you?' said a man's voice.

‘Er – no – not at all,' said Bron, taken aback.

‘I'm trying to give it up,' he said as he emerged. 'But it does have its advantages.’

He was tall and needed a haircut, thought Bron immediately and then realised he was familiar. But as she couldn't remember where or when she'd seen him, she didn't comment.

He seemed to be wearing working clothes. A shirt, pale with washing, was half tucked in to a pair of faded jeans that had rents below the knee. Not for fashion's sake, Bron guessed, but through wear.

‘Hang on – we've met before!’

Bron gave him a questioning look. 'Maybe..

‘Yes! Just before Ashlyn's wedding. You were leaving when I came to put Major back in the house.'

‘That's right.' Bron nodded slowly, remembering clearly now – she'd had to rush back for Roger, always Roger.

‘I hope you don't feel accosted.' He frowned slightly. 'Perhaps if I introduced myself – my name is James.'

‘I'm Bron. And no, it's all right. I don't feel accosted.' Bron wasn't quite sure how she felt. He seemed nice enough and friendly, and not at all threatening, not that Roger would come to her rescue if she needed him. She shivered.

He tipped his head on one side a fraction. 'Are you OK?’

Bron pulled her shawl about her more tightly, as if to protect herself from his questions. 'Fine.' She realised that she'd sounded strained and hoped he wouldn't notice.

‘It's all right, I'm not trying to pick you up. I just thought you seemed a bit… well, never mind.' He smiled again and she noticed he had a very nice smile. His face was brown and there was a fair bit of stubble going on round his jaw, but it was a kind face. 'Actually, you look great, but not happy.'

‘I said, I'm fine,' she repeated, with more conviction this time.

‘So what are you doing on your own out here? You're not having a cheeky fag, so what is it?’

Bron sighed. 'I just fancied some fresh air, that's all.’

James chuckled. 'I'm afraid these days the air can be fresher inside the building than it is in the garden. Although I swear I'm giving up.' This last comment was almost to himself.

‘It's quite hot in there,' said Bron.

‘But your friends will be wondering what's happened to you. In fact, even as we speak your girlfriends are deciding which one of them should come out and check on you.’

Bron sighed. 'No they're not. I'm not here with girlfriends, my partner's inside. He'll probably be wondering where I am.' She closed her eyes for a few seconds, wishing he wasn't – not so much so she could feel free to chat with this James person, but because they no longer made each other happy. Anyway, he probably hadn't even noticed she'd gone. He obviously preferred to spend time with people like Sasha rather than her.

‘On the other hand,' persisted James, 'if you're out here it's probably because you've had a row.'

‘No! Well, not really.'

‘Do you know, somehow, that seems sadder. All couples row from time to time, but for you to want to come out here on your own when you haven't rowed makes it more likely there's something else that's wrong. You seem so sad about it.’

Bron turned away from him a little. He was far too perceptive for comfort. She might not be happy with Roger – in fact she definitely wasn't – but she didn't want to discuss his shortcomings with a stranger.

‘Do I sound like a counsellor? Sorry! I just know that couples have ups and downs.’

James dropped his cigarette end and then stubbed it out with his boot. It was a tiny little roll-up, hardly a cigarette at all. The boot, however, was heavy and stained with soil. He picked up the remains and put it in a little tin. Bron wondered if he was in a relationship and if so whether he was speaking from experience.