Cataclysmic changes in one's life may happen in small, affordable doses. It is in the human nature, after all, only to cope with alterations when we can face them; and even, sometimes, conquer them.

Lucrezia unleashed Emma to move on the wings of her fantasies, but the blending of her two worlds, the real and the imaginary one, has brought Emma to heel.

I do not need to fantasise anymore. I do not need to escape to the bottom of the garden dressed in a diaphanous nightie. I have stuffed the magic into a make-believe universe, when the magic itself is readily available in every day life, if only I am willing to see it. In small doses, if only at first.

The tam-tam of women's emotional support works well in the jungle of complex love relationships. When writing as Emma, her dreams were enough to act as a buffer against the harsh reality. As Lucrezia, I cannot curl up in a little corner and imagine I am sitting on a segment of moon, fishing out the stars. I need to know that there are other people out there feeling the way I do, so that we can touch life together with trembling fingers.

My perception of my own world has shifted; in small doses, but fast. I am a stranger living in a place which I don't recognise any more.

That vase, for example, yes, the one sitting prettily on top of the old presser in the dining room: it perfectly matches the wall paper but it is just a lucky find; I have stripped it of all other connotations, just a beautiful thing belonging to a dimension I seem to have left behind.

I am grateful for the beauty around me, but no longer enjoy it; truth be told, I have never loved it. I have allowed Mr Husband to mould me into a satisfied middle class prude, objectively weighing beauty itself without completely matching it to my taste or desire. His steady affection, badly displayed, seems worryingly hollow.

As a result, the axis of one's priorities seems to have shifted, slowly but surely. How can I lavish my care on a garden which I no longer feel my own? Or decorate rooms, repair crumbling walls, design plans for a new bathroom, when my soul is somewhere else?

'You look bloody awful', says one of the tam-tam jungle friends. I have finally started irradiating signals of distress and I am heartened by the many voices whispering from behind the bamboo shoots, even if just to comment on my apparent weight loss. 'You must be in love', she adds helpfully.

'I thought that being in love made you look radiant and rosy-cheeked', I protest, hugging a mug of coffee.

'Only when you are single and care-free, my dear', she answers. 'You'll find a way to deal with it, but only when you finally start to accept that responsibilities need to be apportioned and that there will be casualties. In a way, it would be a lot easier and more convenient to escape occasionally for a quick shag in the fields. Are you reciprocated, at least?'

'Would that make a difference?' I ask. The coffee, which I have allowed to get cold, has turned a nasty shade of grey-ish brown.

'Technically speaking, yes. It would be a disaster for you to drive a process which eventually leaves you alone and abandoned, would it not?'

'No, not really', I object. 'Not if the alternative if a more substantial kind of loneliness; the sneaky, malicious one you feel but do not see: the one that makes you want to scream when people comment on how lucky you are, with your lovely husband, lovely children and beautiful house.'

She laughs. 'That's the answer I was hoping you'd give me. It seems that Mr Lost has a legitimate place in your heart, being there for his own merits rather than just acting as a deploy, an excuse to flee.'

'I still don't know why these changes are taking place in my life, whether I wish them to happen or not', I say, stubbornly.

'I think sex plays an important part. We can be compatible, and become great friends. Flat-mates have been known to live together for years without an argument. However, to find someone with whom you can have real sexual intimacy, you know, the kind of 'rapport' which makes you drown in your man's eyes as he takes you, that intimacy... is a rare occurrence and a powerful tool for discovery: it then spills over into your everyday life. Intimate relationships last; the others sink into a comfortable friendship, or even comfortably ignoring each other.'

I suppose that's what Emma has taught Lucrezia: the degree of happiness which I am prepared to accept and strive for is way higher than I originally thought. Nice, proper middle class and comfortable living notwithstanding.