I scrambled the hat out of my pocket, pulled it down over my eyes and wound the tartan scarf tightly round my neck. The red beret was unmistakable, slightly askew, fashioned now in devil’s pose. The beret had been for me; carefully chosen in scarlet to hint at inner passion. Tonight it was the cap of Satan; burning brightly.

They were holding hands and he, every so often, would stop and pull her towards him and kiss her lingeringly on the lips. They would have been at The Woodman. She mentioned there was a cosy little local a stone’s throw from her new abode. Perhaps I could join her for a drink there sometime soon?

I hid behind the wall of the DIY warehouse and dared to peek round every few seconds to observe the treachery. She pulled him round the corner into our road as he pirouetted theatrically, wobbling across the ice. I heard them laugh. Or perhaps I heard their laughter. They were too far off for me to be sure but the joke was definitely on me.

12

Rebecca

I’ve often wondered if we knew in advance that something bad was going to happen whether we would make more of the present moment. Seize the day.

I tortured myself for months afterwards, if only I could have behaved differently on our last night together. Perhaps I’d said or done something which had doused the passion for ever. For a long time my own insecurities laid the blame squarely at my feet for things I didn’t understand.

Mitch knocked at my door around eight o’clock. He was relaxed, smiling, as he leant in to kiss me. Everything was as it should be; there were no warning bells.

‘Are you ready? Coach and Horses?’ He didn’t come in but waited on the doorstep.

This was our last earmarked evening together before I was to go home for Christmas. It was inevitable that we would revert to form and drink far too much. Our alcohol-fuelled devil-may-care attitude to life would lead us into bed and to oblivion.

The next morning we’d suffer the consequences and nurse hangovers from hell, but it didn’t matter. We were in love. Or so I thought.

‘Sounds good. I’ll get my coat.’

At the time I imagined his Christmas present to me must be squirrelled away in his skiing jacket; secretly tucked into the pocket. My present for him lay at the bottom of my handbag; a gold signet ring. I’d had it engraved with his initials, MSD. It would fit his fourth finger perfectly.