Once we’re in the foyer fully clothed and ready to leave the hotel – Mick in his white linen suit and me in a shift dress – I study him with renewed interest and the kind of ‘Hey! It’s you!’ sense of happy recognition.

On the flight home, I flick through the duty-free magazine, get my bank card ready for our proseccos and take the laminated safety instructions out of the seat pocket. I always read the safety instructions; I’m cautious that way. I nudge Mick with my elbow. ‘Go on, test me.’

He’s looking out of the window. He doesn’t laugh and he doesn’t take it from me.

‘What’s wrong?’

He turns to look at me, the new skin rosy and pink on his peeling nose, his saintly face deadly serious. ‘Fern,’ he says in the deep, solemn voice of a newscaster announcing the death of a royal, ‘we need to talk.’

It’s so unexpected that I don’t understand what he’s saying. ‘What about?’

‘This isn’t working for me. It’s not you, but over the last few days I’ve realised that we’re looking for different things.’

I suddenly feel cold. ‘Like what, for instance?’ The trolley stops next to me and I’m still holding my credit card. I order two proseccos anyway.

When I keep them both myself, he says, ‘Fern, don’t take it the wrong way. There’s nothing wrong with you. It’s just the relationship, it’s superficial.’

‘Oh, thanks,’ I chip in indignantly. ‘Superficial? You’d know all about that. You’re the guy who nearly broke up with me because I wore pleats. Idiot.’ I proceed to pour one of the drinks and knock it back.

‘That’s what I mean – you take the whole fashion thing too far. You’re really nice, but …’

‘Obviously not nice enough to spend any more time with, that’s the bottom line,’ I say, my voice rising. ‘You’ve made me spend the last four days naked and now you’re breaking up with me?’

‘Shhh …’

‘You tell me clothes aren’t important and when I don’t wear any, you dump me?’ I don’t know why he thinks that flapping his hands at me is going to calm me down. ‘Don’t shush me! So what if people are looking? You should be ashamed!’

I grab the drinks and go and ask the cabin crew for another seat, but the flight is full. There’s no way that anyone survives the break-up speech feeling better about themselves, so I stomp back to sit next to Mick and tell him to shut up. For the rest of the flight I sit there hating him.

I’m devastated. After all I went through for him.