‘Dispatches, no less. Very grown-up. Not really your thing, I would have said.’

How could he possibly know?

‘Could you really hack it, though, with your history? That’s what you need to ask yourself. Especially when you know I’d miss you, don’t you?’ Charlie placed his forefinger under my chin and forced me to meet his eye. ‘Let me take you out to lunch and explain exactly how much.’

‘I’ve got so much to catch up with,’ I mumbled, my smile frozen now. ‘Another time would be great.’

‘Leave it, darling. It can wait. I’ll get Monica to book a table at Le Caprice.’ Charlie brushed one finger along my forehead, grazing my bruise so I gasped in pain. Then he tucked my hair behind my ear as if the tender gesture had been his sole intention.

‘I can’t, Charlie. The girls need me here today.’

Our eyes locked for a moment until Charlie stood. He made a big show of brushing his trousers down, retying his Ralph Lauren jumper round his shoulders as he battled to control his temper. He so hated being told no. Strolling to the door, Charlie turned with his fingers on the handle.

‘Remind me – what exactly’s been wrong with you this time?’

I refused to let him rile me. ‘I just had a bit of a bug,’ I said mildly.

‘Oh, a bug! A bug like in the summer?’

I gazed at him calmly. ‘No, not like in the summer, Charlie. Thanks for asking, though.’

‘Right.’ Charlie plucked the door open. ‘Well, have your bloody bugs on your own time, please.’ He slammed the door behind him.

After I’d rung Seb and left him a message with my new mobile number, I sat and stared at the painting of Pendarlin on the wall for what seemed like hours. I’d spent the whole sleepless night at my father’s debating whether to shop Alex to the police. Every day, memories of the last fight, of his actions before the crash, became clearer … I didn’t know how long I could fight them any more.

At lunchtime I declined an offer to go to the pub with the girls, but after half an hour of reworking Renee’s sickly script listing all the ridiculous reasons for dumping your unsuspecting partner on live television, I began to eye the new bottle of Smirnoff on the filing cabinet. It was strictly for emergencies – but if this wasn’t one, I didn’t know what was.

As I unscrewed the top, a panicked-sounding Sally rang. ‘I think you’d better get over here now,’ she stammered. ‘We’re in the Windmill.’