A Single To Rome

Longlisted for The Romantic Novelists' Association

Romantic Novel of the Year

A warm and romantic tale of love, sex and making the right choices.

When Michael tells Natalie that he 'needs space', she's devastated. She thought he was the love of her life but now Michael's found himself a new girlfriend. So much for space. Natalie tries speed-dating, but how could she move on when she's still yearning for Michael? One of her speedy dates is Guy and, despite the lack of chemistry, at least she's now got a date for her best friend's wedding. But past indiscretions are about to come to light. Natalie needs to escape. Guy happens to own a flat she can borrow... in Rome! There Natalie makes some fabulous new friends and discovers who puts the Rome into Romeo. She's falling in love - but is it with Rome, or with someone she finds there?

A fun, heart-warming read - Company Magazine

If only there were more books like A Single To Rome - immensely readable, great characters, interesting story - Ciao Magazine

Funny, romantic and cleverly plotted - Sainsburys Magazine

"A deliciously escapist read full of warmth, fun and romance" - Closer Magazine

A SINGLE TO ROME

by Sarah Duncan

Copyright 2009, 2015 Sarah Duncan

Cover illustration by James Grover

First published by Headline Review 2009

This edition published by King of Prussia Publishing

A Smashwords Edition

ISBN 978-1-910847-04-6

Discover other titles by Sarah Duncan at Smashwords.com

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then plase return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy.

Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Author’s Note

About Sarah Duncan

Connect with Sarah Duncan

Other books by Sarah Duncan

Opening chapters of Kissing Mr Wrong

- Shortlisted for Romantic Novel of the Year

Chapter 1

'No,' Natalie said. It was all she was capable of saying. She stared at Michael, but his dark brown eyes, usually as warm as roasted chestnuts, were fixed on the silvery remains of their takeaway as if he could read the future in the last remaining gobbets of alu sag. A future that didn't include her. 'No,' she whispered, wanting to trace the line of his cheek, touch his curly dark hair, but her hand remained in her lap, useless. He had never looked as desirable, as beloved, as he did at that moment. The moment after he'd said he had doubts. Doubts. Doubts? What did that mean?

'No,' she said again, shaking her head. She knew what doubts meant. Doubts meant leaving. There was a hard, tight pain across her chest, and a high ringing tone filled her ears. Her brain flooded with a chaotic swirl of thoughts, topmost of which pounded why why why. The Valentine's Day card he'd sent her three weeks ago was still sitting on the mantelpiece over the fireplace. He'd loved her then. Or hadn't he? She gripped her hands, knowing she had to keep a clear head, had to try and make sense of it, had to...had to...had to...She looked at him again; this time he was blurred through tears.

'What have I done wrong?'

'Nothing, you've done nothing.' Michael screwed up his face. 'I need space.'

A tear trickled coldly on Natalie's cheek. She inhaled sharply. Control. She had to keep control. No crying - Michael hated tears. Rewind this scene, see where she'd gone wrong. Start with the takeaway, their favourite midweek evening ritual, spread out on the old pine chest that served as a coffee table. Then the DVD, Michael's choice, The Bourne Ultimatum. Ironic, given what was to happen next. But she hadn't given him an ultimatum, all she'd said was…

'All I said was the lease on my flat was up for renewal. I didn't mean anything by it. I don't see why it has to lead to…' Natalie stopped, her jaw clamped tight to stop a sob. She looked at the screen where tiny figures were moving randomly, shouting, firing guns. Perhaps Matt Damon, crack marksman, amnesiac secret agent, had shot her. It would explain the great gaping hole where her heart had been.

Michael shook his head. 'I never intended this to happen, but now it has...Look, I have to be honest with you. I'm not sure where this - us - is going. I haven't said anything before because, well, there wasn't anything to say. But if were talking about living together…'

'But were not,' Natalie said quickly. 'We're not. It was just an idea, just off the top of my head, I hadn't thought it through,' she lied, because she'd spent the last few months happily thinking about moving in with Michael. Natalie and Michael sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G. First comes love, then comes marriage, then a baby in a carriage. Well, maybe not that last bit, not right now but, on the other hand, it was the logical next step. They were in their early thirties, their careers were shaping up nicely, it was a good time to settle down; they'd been together for nearly three years, they were happy together, everyone said they were a good couple, well matched. Natalie and Michael sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I- The chanting in her head stopped. Had it all been a lie? She clenched her hands, trying to keep the emotional vortex away. Keep calm, keep calm. Stay reasonable.

'I have to renew my lease for another twelve months if I want to stay here. I just wondered about us to moving in together.' Natalie touched his shoulder tentatively, trying to gauge whether she was able to retrieve the situation from disaster. 'It was just an idea.'

'I can see it makes sense,' he said gently, but with a firmness that frightened her. 'But it's not what I want right now. I'm not sure -'

'That I'm what you want.' She finished his sentence for him in a flat voice.

'I need a bit of time on my own, that's all.' Michael stared at the television screen, where Matt Damon was efficiently dispatching the baddies. 'It's been great being together, but I'm not ready to settle down yet. I don't want things to change. I want them to stay as they are.'

'They can stay as they are, they can. We can forget about this, pretend it never happened.' Natalie stood, unable to sit still as hope flared inside her, as bright and incandescent as the house that had just blown up on the screen. She willed him to smile and say it was just a misunderstanding, that everything could go back to normal. 'I'm sorry, it's my fault. Forget I said anything.'

'It's not your fault.' Michael got up too, but instead of moving to her, he stepped away. 'I'm the one who should be saying sorry. The thing is...I need some space.'

Space. That meant he wanted to leave her. Space. Natalie put her arms around his neck. 'Please, Michael, please, darling. Don't say it. Please don't say it. We can work things out.' She stroked his head, smoothing his hair back off his face in quick sweeps. 'Darling, please.'

He took her hand in his and gently moved it away. She grabbed his hand with both hers and kissed it, hundreds of little kisses, forgetting about control, murmuring all the while, 'Please don't go, I love you, please don't, please.'

Michael tugged at his hand. 'Don't, Nat,' he said gently.

Her ears picked up the faintest thread of vulnerability. 'Darling...' Her cheek brushed his, the lightest of touches. He couldn't resist her like this; the air between them was charged with wanting, longing, yearning. She kissed his neck, her lips grazing the surface of his skin. She could feel the balance of power slip her way. His mouth under hers, warm, soft. He couldn't resist her, this, the two of them together.

'I can't think clearly.' Michael pushed her away. 'I have to go.'

'Don't.' Natalie grabbed his hand. This wasn't happening. It couldn't he happening. Michael wasn't himself, he'd been abducted by the CIA and some other, strange Michael had taken over. She clung on to his hand, concentrating on gaining some control over her voice. 'If I give you space, will you come back?'

'Right now, I don't know. I can't think straight. I just know me and you, us, it feels wrong. I need some time on my own to think things over.' His eyes slid away from hers as very carefully but very firmly he disengaged her fingers from his hand. 'You're great, you really are. You've got loads to offer anyone.'

'Just not you,' she said and regretted it immediately because she sounded like a sulky teenager, and Michael hated her being what he called overemotional. 'You can have time. There's no hurry. I'm not pushing you to make a decision.'

'But you are. I feel it.' He closed his eyes. 'I never meant to say anything. Not like this. But now it's out, maybe it's for the best.' How could it be? Natalie screeched inside. How could it be for the best? Michael was going. He was leaving her. She put her hand tightly over her mouth so she didn't scream aloud. 'We'll stay in touch, see how things go. Look, I'm not saying this is the end. I need to think about things.' Michael ran his hands through his hair, his mouth tight with pain. 'Please don't cry, I can't bear it if you cry.'

'I can't help it,' Natalie said, unable to stop herself from making little animal whimpering noises as her self-possession crumbled along with her dreams, terrible sounds that were coming from somewhere deep inside her, sobbing gulps for air. 'I love you.'

'The thing is, Nat…' He looked away, and realisation shot through her like an explosion.

'You don't love me,' she whispered.

He shook his head. 'I do love you, I love you lots. You're the most important person in my life. It's just...I'm not in love with you.'

Natalie thought she might be sick. Not in love. Not in love.

'I'm sorry,' he said, and left.

- ooo -

Dumped. I've been dumped. The fluorescent lights at work the next day weren't making her headache any better. Natalie felt there was a sign over her head announcing the news in flashing pink neon, but no one in the office seemed to notice it, from the legal secretaries right through to the senior partner. She checked through her folders for the day's appointments. Mrs Arthur was first up. Natalie screwed her eyes shut, uncertain she was going to be able to get through this appointment without crying. Tears seemed to leak out of her even though she felt numb. All through the night she had been mentally running on a perpetual loop the film of Michael leaves Natalie, containing no sex and no violence, but meriting an 18 certificate for the quantity of emotional pain, let alone the great black smudges of mascara all over the bedclothes from nonstop tears. Perhaps she should have taken the day off, but it seemed better to occupy herself than be alone in the empty flat. Besides, she had clients to see.

She wondered what Michael was doing now. He'd have got up this morning, driven his car down the motorway to Swindon, parked it in his designated space at the office, and was probably about to see his first client of the day just like her, although his client was more likely to be some property developer interested in a multi-million-pound site than a faded woman anxiously hoping for a divorce. Natalie suddenly wished with all her being that Michael was as miserable as she was.

She doodled a little house on to the corner of her notepad, playing back their conversation. Space, that was what he wanted, but he hadn't ruled out being together in the future. He'd just got frightened at the thought of living together, because living together meant commitment. She bit the end of her pen. Stupid of her not to see that she should have trodden a bit more gently. Why hadn't she kept her big mouth shut? She knew it was a bad idea to suggest living together; it was for him to ask, whatever feminism might say. How could she have been so stupid?

'I must not rush in,' she wrote. 'I must not rush in.' She stared at the words. What she wanted to do right now was rush straight back in and phone Michael. How could he leave her? They had grown together over the past three years, two independent vines twisting around each other, mutually supportive, gaining strength from each other. Or so she'd thought. Now that he'd gone, her vine was decidedly spindly and weak, and she was struggling to stand on her own, curving and twisting around the spaces that had once been Michael. Her hand crept towards the phone, then she jerked it back. Don't even think of it.

Her secretary stuck her head round the door. 'Natalie, Mrs Arthur's here.'

'Fine, I'll be through in a minute.' Natalie blew her nose. She couldn't think any more about her own horrible life; she had to deal with the horrible lives of others. Quickly she went into her email account and clicked New Message.

To: Jax Harrison

Subject: Worst news EVER!!!!!

Help. Michael's dumped me. Need alcohol fast. Will tell you all when I see you. Are you free tonight? Love, Natalie

She pressed Send, then gathered up the Mrs Arthur folder and went downstairs, the file feeling heavier with each step towards the room they used for meeting clients. Just her luck for the first client to be Mrs Arthur, Mrs Arthur with the interminable divorce that had dragged on for years. Natalie was the firm's second lawyer to handle the case, which had involved every conceivable delaying tactic from Mr Arthur, and total limpness from Mrs Arthur. It was taking all her energy to keep pushing forward.

'Good morning, Mrs Arthur,' she said, sitting down, trying to sound positive and bright. 'Sorry to keep you waiting. You'll be pleased to hear we now have a date for the court hearing.'

'I don't want to go to court,' Mrs Arthur said, soggy as semolina and about as indigestible.

For one dreadful moment Natalie thought she hadn't the will to carry on. She spread her hands over the folder as if she were able to absorb the contents through osmosis as she tried to summon up her professional spirit. 'Unless you go to court, there's no reason for your husband to agree the settlement.'

'But he said he would…' Mrs Arthur's voice trailed away. They both knew what Mr Arthur had said, promised, sworn would happen, but none of it ever had, as the weighty folder proved. Natalie felt a wave of sickness at the thought of the promises Michael had made, and had now broken. She pressed her hand to her stomach under the desk where Mrs Arthur couldn't see, knowing she mustn't think about Michael leaving now.

'It's not going to happen,' she said as kindly as she could manage. 'You have to take him to court - that is, if you want to see any money or property from him. My colleague Mr Cardew and myself have explored every other option. We've written all the letters we can write. He's not going to play ball. There's really not much else to be done.'

'I don't want to go to court,' Mrs Arthur said pathetically. She slumped in her chair with all the colour, animation and backbone of a stranded jellyfish.

'No one wants to go to court,' Natalie said as gently as she could manage. 'But as your lawyer, I must advise you that this is the only way to move forward. It's only a preliminary hearing,' she added.

'I thought he'd sign before it came to this,' Mrs Arthur said, wringing her hands in her mouse-like way. 'He always said he would…'

'Well, he hasn't,' Natalie said bracingly. 'He's called our bluff and we either back down or proceed to court.'

Mrs Arthur gave a faint moan. 'Is there really nothing you can do?'

Natalie wanted to say, 'Apart from giving you a kick up the backside?' but she knew she couldn't take her own feelings of misery out on Mrs Arthur. She leaned forward. 'Mrs Arthur. This is like pulling the sticking plaster off very, very slowly. You may think it's making the process less painful, but in my experience, you'd be better off ripping it off quickly.' Was that what Michael was doing to her? Ripping her off like sticking plaster? But he'd said he didn't know, that it wasn't clear cut. 'It's your decision. I can't force you to continue.' Her hands shook with her yearning to force Michael to continue, to force him to love her.

'Oh dear. Frank always made the decisions.' Mrs Arthur looked up at Natalie with pale blue eyes that looked on the verge of tears. 'Are you sure there's no other option?'

Natalie opened her mouth to say a firm yes, but suddenly closed it again. 'You said he'd always said he'd agree.'

Something was niggling in the back of her mind, something under the fog of pain. She could picture the lecturer at law college mentioning it, almost as an aside. Something about verbal agreements…it had a strange name - what was it?

Mrs Arthur nodded. 'He says he's going to do things all the time, but he never does.' She sounded almost proud of her husband's intransigence.

'So I'm completely clear: he has verbally told you on more than one occasion that he was going to agree to the financial settlement?'

Mrs Arthur nodded again. 'Mr Cardew wrote him a letter.'

A letter? Natalie kept her face neutral but she could feel her heart starting to pound. 'Can you remember when?' She opened up the file and began to flick through.

'Um, June?'

Natalie paused. 'Last year?'

'Oh no, before that. It was definitely June, though - he said he couldn't do anything more about it because he was busy with the harvest.'

Natalie flicked further back through the file: the copies of letters sent, the indignant replies from Mr Arthur, some handwritten in green ink, and the more formal replies from when he engaged solicitors. And there it was.

She quickly scanned the letter, wondering why Fraser Cardew hadn't followed it up. Probably lost the will to live, having had it sucked out of him by the superabsorbent Mrs Arthur. But there was clearly a reference to a verbal agreement, and - she checked the next piece of paper - Mr Arthur's solicitor had also referenced it. Bingo.

'There is a thing called a Xydhias agreement,' she said slowly. 'If the two parties in a dispute have verbally made an agreement, and then both parties have in good faith proceeded as if that agreement was in force, the presumption is that the court will implement that agreement, even if one of them changes their mind later. I think this letter is enough to confirm that you had an agreement, and therefore that agreement should be binding. We have a court hearing booked at the end of March for the application for ancillary relief. I propose that we instead ask the judge to rule on whether there is a Xydhias agreement or not.' She leaned back in her chair. It was incredible. Her heart was breaking but her brain still functioned. How did that work?

Mrs Arthur looked bewildered. 'What does Zidious mean? I don't want to do anything foreign. Will it cost a lot?'

'The name Xydhias simply refers to the surname of the couple who went to appeal. If the judge agrees that there is was an agreement between you and your husband, that it was made having been independently advised - I think your husband was still with Lloyd Jones Mayhew at that point - and that it is fair, then the financial settlement you arranged eighteen months ago stands. He will have to pay all the court costs, and the legal costs you have incurred since the agreement, as he has been the one who has delayed matters.' If only Michael could see me now, she thought. Surely he'd be impressed.

Mrs Arthur pondered this as if scanning the silver lining for hidden clouds. 'And if the judge doesn't agree?'

'Then were in exactly the same place we are now.' Natalie leaned back in her chair, apparently composed. If only you knew how close I am to breaking down, she thought, staring at the fraction of lacy white vest that was peeking out under Mrs Arthur's Liberty print shirt and sensible woollen cardigan. It took another ten minutes of wittering for Mrs Arthur to make the decision that she would take Natalie's advice. Natalie smiled and opened the door for her, then lugged the folders back to her office, where the smiling abruptly stopped. She collapsed at her desk, her head on her arms, overtaken by a burst of crying. I can't bear it, she silently howled into the sleeve of her suit. I can't bear it.

But bear it she had to. After five minutes she calmed down and sat up, every bone feeling brittle, as if the calcium had been leached out of them. Come on, Natalie, she told herself. There's paperwork to be done, letters to be sent, court judgements to apply for. Stop torturing yourself with what if? Get on with living. She found the box of tissues she kept for clients and wiped the mascara snail trails from her blotchy face. Get on with it. Crying didn't count in the great billable-hours scheme of things.

She rebooted the computer. With dull eyes she saw that there were messages in her mailbox, then it occurred to her that Michael might have sent her an email to say he'd made a mistake - he wouldn't phone, knowing that she would be at work. She scrolled through them but couldn't see his name. Offers for Viagra and penis enlargement featured prominently, then one entitled: Bollocks!!! She smiled wanly, thinking there was only one person in the universe who was that upfront. She clicked to open the message.

No! Can't believe it! Poor you. Meet you outside work at 6? Will rally the troops. Cyberhugs for now, real ones later. Thinking of you, lots of love, Jax xxxxxxx

- ooo -

'Bastard,' Jax said, knocking back her margarita.

'Bastard,' Kimberley echoed.

'Double bastard,' Jax said, putting down her glass. 'Let's get another jug.' She turned and waved in the direction of the nearest waiter, who came almost immediately. Jax had that effect on men, though Natalie could never decide whether it was the shock of white-blonde hair or the determined expression, honed by organising hundreds of television shoots. No was not a word people said to Jax that often.

'He's not really a bastard,' Natalie said, thinking of the time she'd had flu just before Christmas and Michael had looked after her so tenderly, bringing cups of tea and a plate of honey toast adorned with a sprig of holly, and then cleaning her kitchen while she drifted in and out of sleep. It had seemed a good idea to moan about Michael to her friends, but hearing he was a bastard wasn't making her feel any better. He wasn't a bastard; he was lovely. 'He just wants space.'

'The final frontier,' Kimberley said, shaking her head so her earrings caught the light in her dark curly hair.

'Space,' Jax said, shaking her head as well. 'That's such a cliché.'

'Anyone would think he was a migrating wildebeest roaming the Serengeti.' Natalie tried to make a joke of it, not wanting to think of the other great cliché, I love you, but I'm not in love with you. 'But what can you do?'

'What did you do?' Jax said, ever practical.

'I handled it all wrong.' She didn't want to tell them how she hadn't been able to keep control over her emotions, how she'd ended up howling, red in the face, eyes swollen. All the fight had gone out of her. It must have been the shock. She took a swig from her glass but the margarita tasted sour. Not refreshingly sour, just bitter. 'I should have stayed cool. I mean, moving in was just an idea.'

'Bide your time,' Kimberley said, patting her arm. 'He'll be back.'

'D'you think so?' Natalie smiled at Kimberley, wanting to believe her but knowing that Kimberley worked in PR and spent her life putting a golden spin on the worst of stories and coaxing hard-nosed journalists to believe in fairy tales. Kimberley was good at telling you what you wanted to hear.

Jax shook her head. 'Space. It's a killer. It means he doesn't want to be with you.'

'Not always,' Kimberley said, earning promotion to the top of Natalie's best-friend list. She didn't care if her reasoning was as insubstantial as thistledown.

'Always,' Jax said firmly, slipping further down Natalie's list despite their having been best friends since their first lecture at university together thirteen years or so earlier. Jax had always been organised and practical, the one who got things done. At that point she had had dark hair, darker than Michael's, and Natalie had been the blonde. Kimberley, who'd become a friend in their third year, had been the kitten cuddler, dressed in layers of floppy antique silk and loose-knit sweaters. She wore suits now, but Natalie knew that Mr Fluffy the stuffed rabbit still had pride of place on Kimberley's pillow.

'I knew a bloke once,' Kimberley said dreamily. 'He said he wanted space, and then went off to become a cowboy,' Natalie smiled weakly, thinking that Michael would have made a good cowboy. His rugged good looks suited a day's worth of stubble. She could just see him with a bandanna round his neck and a holster over his hips. 'Never mind, Nat,' Kimberley carried on. 'At least he didn't say it was him, not you.'

'That's the pits,' Jax said, frowning. 'I mean, everyone knows it is about you.'

'Well, he didn't say it,' Natalie said. I love you, but I'm not in love with you. That was what he'd said, and inside she felt that now familiar stab of agony at the memory. She'd never be able to eat a chicken biryani again; it would taste of nothing but loss and despair. Her mouth wobbled and her eyes pricked as the tears started to come yet again. 'He said he wasn't ready to settle down.'

There was a collective tutting from the other two, and Jax squeezed her hand. 'Have another drink,' Kimberley said soothingly, as she poured from the newly replenished jug into Natalie's glass.

Natalie pressed her hand to her mouth and tried to gain some equilibrium. This had been a bad idea. She could just about hold it together at the office, but with the sympathy of her friends, all she wanted to do was go home and cry. 'Enough about me. Let's raise our glasses to Jax and Phil, a man who wants to settle down, a man who is in love, a man who doesn't want space.' Natalie's hand was shaking so much she could have whipped cream with it as she lifted her glass, and Kimberley echoed with 'Jax and Phil.'

The conversation became more general, about Jax's wedding. Jax had chosen a Wild West theme, with Kimberley and Natalie, as bridesmaids, dressed in saloon-bargirl outfits, tight waists, flared skirts and Victorian lace-up boots. Natalie listened with as much interest as if Jax and Kimberley were a pair of trainspotters talking about narrow-gauge railways. Kimberley was worried about the length of the dresses; Natalie knew that Kimberley considered her legs to be her best feature and was obviously un¬happy about hiding them under acres of net petticoats. Kimberley was unattached, but looking. Even though she was talking animatedly to Jax, her eyes kept flicking to scout any possible talent that materialised in the bar. Natalie winced inwardly at the thought that this was going to be her own future, and felt a spurt of anger at Michael for pushing her out of the cosy nest of coupledom into the shark-infested waters of the single life. But perhaps he was going to come back. Perhaps even now the phone was ringing in her flat - the bar was in a basement; she knew there was no mobile signal. Her first impulse was to rush home, but then she thought, no. She'd let him wait. It was good for him to realise she wasn't waiting and weeping by the phone, hoping for his call.

Natalie smiled inwardly. Instead she was waiting and weeping in a bar, longing for his call. Besides, he wouldn't phone that evening. He wasn't an impulsive man. Having made the break, he would be thinking about it, mulling it over in his head, making a decision about whether it was really what he wanted. And she just had to wait while he decided. There was nothing she could do about it.

She turned back to her friends, and tried to concentrate on their conversation. The wedding was still the topic. Jax and Phil had been together for years, meeting in Jax's first job in television. He was a camera operator working mainly on documentaries. Everybody could see from the start that they were right for each other; the only surprise about their forthcoming marriage was that it had taken them so long. Over the last couple of years, Jax and Natalie had spent long evenings together over a bottle of Pinot Noir discussing the pros and cons of marriage, and all the while, Natalie had felt secure in her own relationship. While she wasn't actively thinking of marriage to Michael, except in one of those boredom fantasies on a par with what I'd do if I won the lottery, it had never occurred to her that they weren't on the path to total commitment to each other. Last summer they'd gone to Cornwall and taken a long walk, late into the warm evening. They'd crossed a wide deserted beach, the wave-rippled sand gold where the setting sun caught it and blue in the shadows, and seagulls calling mournfully in the expanse of sky above, and Michael had taken her face in his hands and kissed her, and it had felt like something out of a film; she could almost hear the music swelling in the background and the camera circling around their embracing bodies.

Jax squeezed Natalie's hand. 'I'm sorry it hasn't worked out for you two. Are you sure it's all over?'

Natalie came back to the present, that cold, nasty place where Michael no longer wanted to kiss her. Kimberley had disappeared, either to the loo or to hunt down some man she'd spotted. 'I don't know. He said he needed time to think. He needed space. I don't see why we had to separate, things were great between us before. Just because I suggested moving in with him…' Natalie exhaled. 'It was only a suggestion.'

'I thought you two were very much together. I was going to throw you my bouquet.'

Natalie leaned her head against Jax's shoulder. 'Oh Jax, what am I going to do? He was the love of my life.'

Jax put an arm around her. 'You've got to think about what you want, not what he wants.'

'I want Michael,' Natalie wailed.

'Apart from Michael,' Jax said with a sigh. 'At the moment, he's calling the shots. He's asked for space, and you've given it to him but without any time frame. I mean, he might come back tomorrow, or next week, or next month.'

'Do you think so?' Natalie sat up. The only thing that had been successful in stopping her crying was mentally playing out scenarios where the doorbell rang and she answered it and there was Michael clutching a bouquet of flowers. Darling, he'd say, forgive me. I love you. I am in love with you. It was a moment of madness. Please forgive me. Take me back. And then Natalie would consider for ... ooh, about three seconds, and then ask him in so they could talk - just talk, she'd say to Michael, but she'd bury her nose in the bouquet (which wouldn't give her hayfever) and then the picture dissolved into a happy, shiny, dreamy vision of them back together. And from then on, Michael would be attentive to her every whim, all ideas of space forgotten. Why, he'd be happy to live in a broom cupboard so long as that cupboard included her. Natalie sighed. It was a lovely picture.

'No, I don't,' Jax said. 'And you shouldn't take him back even if he turns up. If he can dump you once, he can dump you again. And it's never the same when you get back together. You've always got the dumping scenario at the back of your mind - will he, won't he - and that makes you needy. And, as we all know, needy is not good. And then there's the fact that because you've already been there and done that, it's not as exciting as with a new lover. You just slip back into your old habits, your old routines, exactly as if nothing has happened - except that now you know he doesn't find you that attractive.'

The beautiful reunion bubble popped. 'That's a bit harsh.'

'What I'm saying is make your own choice. Don't let him control your life. Give him up and move on.'

'Easier said than done,' Natalie said grumpily, thinking it was all very well Jax pontificating about relationships when she had a devoted man, eager to anticipate her every whim, who had never shown any sign of wanting space.

'What you've got to remember is that there are plenty more fish in the sea.'

'I don't want to go out with a fish.' Natalie drained her glass. She was starting to feel the effects of the alcohol and realised she hadn't eaten so far that day. Strange how she didn't feel hungry. Perhaps if she lost weight, Michael would come back to her.

'Who's going out with a fish?' Kimberley asked, settling back on her