‘I’m a bit tied up but I’ll pop down as soon as I can!’ I yelled. I put my back to the door, willing her to go away.

‘I’ve got a burst pipe and can’t stop the water!’ she screamed, and knocked even harder.

‘Okay. I’ll be down. Give me five minutes. You go back and wait for me.’ I couldn’t let her in, not until the walls had been painted.

I tore off my blue overalls and baseball hat and slipped a light blue jumper on top of my splattered T-shirt. Mrs Kennedy mustn’t know that I was redecorating my control centre. As I stood back and surveyed the random colour swabs dotted around the walls, I thought the deep red seemed absolutely perfect.

After I managed to stem the flood at my neighbour’s flat, I texted Oliver and began my vigil.

It was five o’clock.

70

Rebecca

I mooched around Harrods’ food counter and teased myself with the rich colourful displays. My heart missed a beat. A surprise picnic would be perfect. The Italian counter was crammed with highly spiced salamis, Parma hams and strong pungent rich blue cheeses.

‘Madam, may I help you?’

My heart sang as I wandered past the glass display, sampling biscotti tasters as I went. Platters of truffles tempted the connoisseur. A handsome young Italian guy smiled as he shadowed my movement along the counter.

‘Yes please. I’d like a selection of antipasti. It’s for a special occasion.’

Giuseppe, a white label pinned to his pristine overalls, reeled off endless options. ‘Garlic stuffed olives; mozzarella filled red peppers; truffle topped toasts; smoked artichokes in olive oil. Anything in particular?’

‘I’ll let you choose. It’s for two people,’ I added and pointed towards the Gorgonzola dolce; Mitch’s favourite. ‘Also, I’d definitely like some of that.’

‘He’s a lucky man,’ Giuseppe grinned as he spooned expensive delicacies into plastic cartons. Japanese tourists photographed the counter, jostling with each other to get a better view. As I paid for the goods, Giuseppe suggested I come back another time. He knew this great little spaghetti house across the road.

Surprises had earmarked our relationship. Mitch used to magic small boxes, mythical white rabbits, from under tables, and slip them into my eager hand. The first gift, a small nine-carat gold letter R, was the first present a man had ever bought me.