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Do you ever wonder what’s the point?” Lynn asked, a bit out of puff as she and Julie power-walked the prom.

“Well,” said Julie, “the scales say I have dropped 2lbs since last week and I think the stupid arm-swinging is actually helping my triceps.”

“I don’t mean the walking, I mean the drinking,” Lynn said.

“Oh definitely,” Julie replied. “Nearly every night I think I’ll have a glass and then I remember I’m off it. Like, what’s the point? How much could a couple of drinks hurt the diet? Though being off the drink does keep me off the crisps, too.”

“I don’t mean the not drinking,” Lynn said. “I mean the drinking. What’s the point?”

The two friends had been nearly a fortnight on the dry. It was part of a greater plan to shed the guts of a stone each before December. They were eating healthily, walking at a near running pace every second evening, back at Pilates twice a week. And off the drink. Lynn and Julie were lifetime drinking pals. Not that they got out much any more, what with the kids and all, but they’d had their times in their 20s.

Now it was the odd few glasses out every few weeks, but mostly calling around to each other’s houses and opening a bottle together. Or opening bottles separately in their respective houses, and WhatsApping each other pictures of their full glasses.

“Too early?” the messages often went. “Never too early,” was always the reply.

“Do you not miss it?” asked Julie, a bit horrified. “I’m counting down the days. I even know what I’m having when it’s over: a gin and tonic, and then a big glass of albarino. I’ve bought a new gin especially.”

Julie laughed in a ‘amn’t I awful?’ way. Lynn felt bored at the thought and guilty for feeling bored.

“I never thought I’d say it, but I feel much better without it,” said Lynn. “Like, what’s the point of getting half-pissed on the sofa just to head off to bed? I’m not having the laughs, but I’m drunk enough that I’m reading the same pages of my book every night. And I fall asleep, but I don’t stay asleep. And don’t you dare say that’s the start of the menopause!”

“Well it is,” said Julie, “and if you ask me, the only answer to that is a drink.”

“I’ve lost 2lbs as well,” Lynn said, keen now to change the subject. “Only seven to go. We’ll be gorgeous by the time of that charity lunch.”

“I know, I can’t wait. Let the bubbly flow,” said Julie. “Only 19 more days. But who’s counting?”

Not me, thought Lynn, but what was the point of even saying that?