It was great but . . ." Told her the whole story about Rebecca and New York and the house party. "I don't know whether I should go or not."

"Of course you've got to go, Bridge," said Magda. "If Mark wanted to go out with Rebecca he'd be going out with Rebecca, just say - get off, get off, Harry get off the back of that chair now or Mummy will smack. You're two very different kinds of people."

"Hmmm. You see, I think Jude and Shazzer would argue . . ."

Jeremy grabbed the phone. "Listen, Bridge, taking advice on dating from Jude and Shazzer is like taking advice from a diet consultant who weighs twenty stone."

"Jeremy!" bellowed Magda. "He's just playing devil's advocate, Bridge. Ignore him. Every woman has her aura. He's chosen you. Just go along, be gorgeous, and keep an eye on her. Nooo! Not on the floor!"

She's right. Am going to be assured, receptive, responsive woman of substance and have a lovely time emanating aura. Hurrahs Will just call Dad then go to football.

Midnight. Back in flat. Once out in freezing cold assured woman of substance evaporated into insecurity. Had to walk past workmen working under bright lights on gas main. Was wearing v. short coat and boots so braced myself to deal with lewd catcalls and embarrassing remarks then felt complete arse when none came.

Reminded me of when was fifteen and walking along lonely backstreet into town and man started following me then grabbed my arm. Turned to look at attacker in alarm. At time was v. thin in tight jeans. Also, however, had winged spectacles and brace on teeth. Man took one look at my face and ran off.

On arrival confided feelings re: workmen to Jude and Sharon. "That's the whole point, Bridget," Shazzer exploded. "These men are treating women as objects, as if our only function is physical attractiveness."

"But they weren't," said Jude.

"That's exactly why the whole thing is so objectionable. Now come on, we're supposed to be watching the match."

"Mmm. They've got lovely big thighs, haven't they?" said Jude.

"Mmmm," I agreed, distractedly wondering if Shaz would go mad if brought up Rebecca during the match. "I knew someone who slept with a Turk once," said

Jude. "And he had a penis that was so enormous he couldn't sleep with anyone."

"What? I thought you said she slept with him," said Shazzer, keeping one eye on the television.

"She slept with him but she didn't do it," explained Jude.

"Because she couldn't because his thing was too big," I said supportively of Jude's anecdote. "What a terrible thing. Do you think it goes by nationality? I mean do you think the Turks ... ?"

"Look, shut up," said Shazzer.

For a while we all fell silent, imagining the many penises tucked neatly into shorts and thinking of all the games of many different nationalities in the past. Was just about to open my mouth, but then Jude, who seemed to have become rather fixated for some reason, piped up, "It must be very weird having a penis."

"Yes," I agreed, "very weird to have an active appendage. If I had one I would think about it all the time."

"Well, yes, you'd worry about what it would do next," said Jude.

"Well, exactly," I agreed. "You might suddenly get a gigantic erection in the middle of a football match."

"Oh for God's sake!" yelled Sharon.

"OK, keep your hair on," said Jude. "Bridge? Are you all right? You seem a bit down about something."

I looked nervously at Shaz then decided this was too important to let lie. I cleared my throat for attention and announced: "Rebecca rang Mark up and asked us on a mini-break this weekend."

WHAT?" Jude and Shaz exploded simultaneously. Was really glad the seriousness of the situation was fully appreciated. Jude got up for the Milk Tray and Shaz fetched another bottle from the fridge.

"The thing is," Sharon was summing up, "we've known Rebecca for four years. Has she ever once in all that time invited you, me or Jude on one of her posh house-party weekends?"

"No." I shook my head solemnly.

"But the thing is," said Jude, "if you don't go then what if he goes on his own? You can't let Rebecca get him in her clutches. And also it's obviously important to someone in his position to have someone who's a good social partner."

"Hgumph," snorted Shazzer. "That's just retrospective bollocks. If Bridget says she doesn't want to go and he goes without her and he gets off with Rebecca then he's a second-rate charlatan and not worth having. Social partner - pah. We're not in the 1950s now. She's not cleaning the house all day in a pointy bra then entertaining his colleagues like some trophy Stepford wife. Tell him you know Rebecca's after him and that's why you don't want to go."

"But then he'll be flattered," said Jude. "There's nothing a man finds more attractive than a woman who is in love with him."

"Says who?" said Shaz.

"The baroness in The Sound of Music," said Jude, sheepishly.

Unfortunately, by the time we turned our attention back to it the game appeared to be over.

Next thing Mark rang.

"What happened?" he said excitedly.

"Um . . ." I said, gesturing wildly at Jude and Shazzer who looked completely blank.

"You did watch it, didn't you?"

"Yes, of course, football's coming home, it's coming." I sang, vaguely remembering this was something to do with Germany.

"So why don't you know what happened then? I don't believe you."

"We did. But we were..."

"What?"

"Talking," I finished lamely.

"Oh God." There was a long silence. "Listen, do you want to go to Rebecca's?"

I looked from Jude to Shaz, frantically. One yes. One no. And a yes from Magda.

"Yes," I said.

"Oh great. It'll be fun, I think. She said to bring a swimsuit."

A swimsuit! Doom. Dooooooooom.

On way home, discovered same lot of workmen tumbling pissed out of pub. Put nose in air and decided did not care whether they whistled or not but just as walked past was huge cacophony of appreciative noises. Turned round, pleased to give them a filthy look only to find they were all looking the other way and one of them had just thrown a brick through the window of a Volkswagen.

9st 5 (honing), alcohol units 3 (best behaviour), cigarettes

2 (huh), calories 10,000 (probably: suspected Rebecca sabotage), dogs up skin 1 (constantly).

Gloucestershire. Turns out Rebecca's parents" "country cottage" has stable blocks, outbuildings, pool, full staff and its own church in the "garden'. As we scrunched across the gravel, Rebecca - snooker-ball-bottomed in jeans in manner of Ralph Lauren ad - was playing with a dog, sunlight dappling her hair, amongst an array of Saab and BMW convertibles.

"Emma! Get down! Hiiiiil" she cried, at which dog broke free and put its nose straight up my coat.

"Mwah, come and have a drink," she said welcoming Mark as I wrestled with the dog's head.

Mark rescued me, shouting, "Emma! Here!" and chucking the stick, so the dog brought it back, tail wagging. "Oh, she adores you, don't you, darling, don't you, don't you, don't you?" Rebecca cooed, fussing the dog's head like it was her and Mark's first-born baby.

My mobile rang. Tried to ignore it.

"I think that's yours, Bridget," said Mark. I took it out and pressed the button. "Oh, hello, darling, guess what?"

"Mother, what are you ringing me on my mobile for?" I hissed, watching Rebecca leading Mark away.

"We're all going to Miss Saigon next Friday! Una and Geoffrey and Daddy and I and Wellington. He's never been to a musical before. A Kikuyu at Miss Saigon. Isn't that fun? And we've got tickets for you and Mark to join us!

Gaah! Musicals! Strange men standing with their legs apart bellowing songs straight ahead.

By the time I got into house Mark and Rebecca had disappeared and was nobody around except the dog, which put its nose up my coat again.