I necked back the last dribble of wine in my third glass and popped the last black olive into my mouth before catching the eye of the waiter who’d told me to stay.

‘I make you some spaghetti?’ he suggested, his expression one of sympathy. He knew. Of course he knew. Everyone in La Vecchia Scuola knew that I’d been stood up.

‘Just the bill please.’

He shook his head. ‘Olives are not enough. You waste away.’

‘Thanks, but I’m not hungry anymore. Sorry. Just the bill.’

‘He have wrong time? Your boyfriend. He mixed up? Wrong time? Wrong day?’

Oh yes, he was certainly wrong. For me, for us, for his family. He’d made his decision and I shouldn’t be surprised especially when, deep down, I knew it was the right one.

I placed a generous tip on the table then left the restaurant, trying to hold my head high, trying to will the tears back. It was over. My friends had all been right about the inevitable outcome which had come a little sooner than expected.

Bloody Scott Hastings had broken my heart yet again. And I’d let him.

The tube home was heaving. A hen party of young women wearing angel wings and halos tottered up and down the carriage on impractical heels. I found my mind drifting to what I’d have done for my hen do. I’d always fancied a weekend away in Dublin. Would that be good for a hen do? Or I could stay in London and do a meal and show. Or what about…?

I had to stop myself. What was I doing? Scott and I were never going to make it down the aisle. Even if he wasn’t already married to someone else, the no-show this evening, the unanswered calls, the ignored texts all sent out a very clear message. I hoped desperately that nothing had happened to the twins but, whether it had or not, I knew I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t be the other woman. It wasn’t fair to her, the twins, or me. When – if – he came crawling back to me, I had to be strong. I had to say no.

But as I swayed from side to side, clinging onto a metal pole, all I could picture were the good times. When – if – he came crawling back to me, I wasn’t sure I could be that strong.

It was a little after 11.00 p.m. when the text came through:

✉︎ From Scott