All that just to dare to ask him if he would spend Christmas with her.

The broken coffee mug. All that so he could have s.e.x because he liked it. Not necessarily with her. He just liked it. All that so he could send her an electronic message calling it a day.

She sank slowly down the kitchen door until she made contact with the floor again. Wrapping her arms around her knees, she buried her head and waited for the tears. But they didn't come. All she could do was take deep breaths as anger rose up inside her.

How could she have been so stupid to think that this was going to be her happy ending?

How could she have put herself through this yet again? To believe that she'd fallen in love with Prince Charming only to discover that she'd been sleeping with the villain all along. Yet again.

A vision of the four trolls reared up inside her head like some pyscho' horror movie. Four cartoon faces laughing at her, psychedelic hair licking round their faces like h.e.l.l fire.

"b.a.s.t.a.r.ds," she cried kicking out. "All of you. I'll get you all for this."

She had no idea how long she sat there curled up in a ball, waves of anger engulfing her as she reflected on her past and speculated on her future. She hated where she was and right now she blamed them all. Right now it felt like they had not only ruined her one and only love life, they had ruined her one and only life.

Eventually she was disturbed from her misery by the sound of her mobile ringing somewhere in the hallway. She scrambled up hoping it might be a sympathetic ear that had tuned into her distress. It wasn't. It was Gareth. She answered quickly, knowing he bawled out anyone out who ignored his phone calls.

"Suzie, it's Gareth," barked the editor.

"Hi," she said tersely not in the mood for one of his infamous stripping downs.

"I've just looked at your advice column for this week and it's s.h.i.t," he said. "And our audience figures show no uplift in female readership. I want a revised proposal by the team meeting tomorrow. Something that doesn't make me want to puke."

The line went dead.

Chapter Three.

Drew had watched, completely and utterly horrified as Suzie staggered out of the office. Because I love him? What kind of idiot excuse was that? How Suzie, an attractive, normally intelligent woman could allow herself to be rendered a complete fool by the likes of someone like Alex he would never understand. Couldn't she see through all the charm and slick, sugary patter? Couldn't she see that he was about as deep as his fake tan and that he only had genuine feelings for himself? Couldn't she see that he'd only gone out with her because she had her own flat and he needed somewhere to crash whilst he'd got the builders in at his?

"Because I love him," he murmured to himself shaking his head. He had a deep-seated dislike for that particular sentence. It was the because that ruined it. The because slicked an evil tone over an otherwise perfectly nice few words. The because transformed it into a justification rather than a statement. A justification of deficiencies of the him in question. A justification that allowed the deficiencies to continue without challenge or recrimination. Drew knew this all too well. He had spent a lot of time considering this very sentence since it had been part of one of the most significant conversations in his life. The last one with his mother before he left for University.

"Why don't you leave him mum?" he'd asked her in a rush of courage as he got into his car. It was the first time he had ever addressed the appalling state of his parents' marriage in public.

Her eyes had welled up and she'd stared at him for a long time before she uttered, "Because I love him."

His father was the landlord of a pub in a rough suburb of Manchester and had struggled for many years to resist the temptation of the parade of neglected wives who came in to get drunk and pour out their troubles in his ever-willing ear. His mother had first found him wrapped around a skeletal redhead in the cellar after closing time when Drew was around twelve years old. He could still picture her sitting at the kitchen table as white as a sheet and trembling whilst his father begged forgiveness and threw empty promises like confetti. At some point during the angst-ridden few days that followed his mother cracked and forgave in order to maintain the status quo but life was never the same. Periods of relative calm prevailed until his dad c.o.c.ked up, got discovered and his mum fell apart. She'd cry for days on end until forgiveness started to wheedle its way in again, just as his father said it would with a sly wink to him one day at breakfast. There was a part of him that was angry with his mother. For being weak and submitting not only herself but him to this lie of a family. And as for using love as an excuse. He vowed never to let it affect him like that. Love had no right to force you into a life of h.e.l.l as it had done his mother. It had no right to manipulate you, fling you from pillar to post and mess with your head. He believed that love was something to be controlled and managed with a firm hand and a clear head. The heart should play second fiddle no matter what, or you could end up like his mother a and Suzie for that matter.

If Suzie tried using her head a bit more often rather than listening to her misguided heart she might be better off. He hoped she'd picked up his threatening text message regarding any contact she might be considering with Alex during her post break-up break down. He wouldn't put it past her to call him and beg for a second chance, such was the level of common sense she applied to her love life. He checked his phone to see if she had replied just as it came alive, heralding the arrival of a very welcome incoming call.

"Not like you to call me at work," he said picking up.

"I'm sorry, am I disturbing you?" a woman with a cool, low voice asked.

"Not at all," he replied. "I could do with a dose of sanity."

"Good," she said. "I'm ringing you regarding this insurance policy you wanted me to check over."

"Great," he said, relieved to be having a conversation with a woman which didn't involve high drama.

"Well I've looked at it from a lawyer's perspective and it's certainly all legal," she said. "And from a personal point of view I think you're right. It's an entirely sensible idea for us to insure our wedding."

"I knew you'd agree Emily," said Drew leaning back in his chair and congratulating himself once again on his choice of fiance. This was why Emily was the perfect woman for him. Someone who in the midst of wedding planning frenzy could discuss wedding insurance in a sensible manner rather than ringing up tearfully with tales of calamities with carnations or bust ups with bridesmaids.

"Well I think it's incredibly nice of you to worry about Dad wasting his money if by any chance a disaster happens," she said.

"Well given that he refuses to let us pay for anything then I think it's the least we can do don't you?"

"Absolutely. And it's good to know that we are covered if any of the suppliers really screws up."

"Exactly."

"Or," she said as Drew heard her rustling papers at the other end of the phone. "Or if you get an unexpected posting overseas as a serving member of the UK armed forces."

He also liked her sarcastic sense of humour.

"You're right Emily," he laughed. "That would be a disaster."

"And very unexpected," replied Emily. "I will sleep better though knowing that we could still pay for a wedding should either of us sustain an accidental bodily injury that causes death or permanent disablement."

Drew took a moment to consider this statement.

"So you would still marry me then?" he asked.

"Obviously not if you were dead," replied Emily. "As for disability it depends on the level." There was a pause as Emily's considerable brain could almost be heard ticking over. "Brain damage I think would leave me with no choice but to cancel, however loss of limbs might be acceptable as long as it's not all of them."

"I see," he said. "So exactly which limbs should I avoid losing if I want to stay in with a chance?"

"Well," she said after a couple of moments' thinking time. "Arms. I think I'd still want you to have arms."

"Any particular reason why?"

"I don't want to spend my married life wiping your backside do I?"

"Good point." replied Drew. Occasionally Emily's rising career as a divorce lawyer gave her an obscenely practical view of marriage.

"So is there anything else I should be avoiding other than the loss of arms?" Drew asked.

"Well you'd better check with Toby where he's taking you for your stag-do because there is no cover for death, disablement or injury as a result of partic.i.p.ation in any dangerous activity including hang-gliding, scuba-diving, parachuting, motor-racing, rock climbing, mountaineering or horse-riding."

"Well I think it is safe to say that Toby is extremely unlikely to have organized horse-riding for my stag-do. We can rule that one out."

"Pity we can't insure against Toby," sighed Emily. "I know he's your best friend but he is the person most likely to cause some kind of disaster at our wedding."

"No, he's taking it all very seriously," defended Drew. "I've given him a pep talk and said he has to play it straight. No surprises."

"Well I'll believe that when I see it," she said rustling papers again. "One last thing then I must go as I have a client meeting starting in five minutes."

"Fire away."

"Well the policy does state that in the event of either party getting cold feet prior to the day, they do provide cover for professional counselling but no cover for any costs incurred."

Drew let the silence that followed Emily's comment drag on just a moment too long. He compensated with forced hearty laughter.

"How rea.s.suring," he said after his outburst. "We'll have bankrupted your father but be unlikely to slit our wrists."

"Yes, that's right," replied Emily laughing as well. "It's a good job there's absolutely no chance of that after all this time. Goodness, if we can't be sure now when would we be?"

"No," he said. "It would be absolutely ridiculous if one of us got cold feet after sixteen years."

"You're right," agreed Emily "What idiots we'd look for wasting all that time," he said.

"Yes," said Emily.

"What an earth would everyone say?" he said "Mmm," she responded.

"We'd be a laughing stock," added Drew.

Another silence appeared before Emily ushered it away.

"So I'm happy to organise this insurance then," she said cheerfully.

"Are you sure?" he replied. "You must be so busy organizing all the other stuff."

"It's no trouble really. Everything else is under control."

"Well, thank you."

"Right must go. See you tonight."

"Yep, see you later then."

Drew put his phone down and stared at the professionally-taken engagement photograph on his desk and wondering for the umpteenth time if that was really him smiling back as though straight out of a catalogue. After a few minutes he shook himself and decided to check out how his fantasy football team was doing. The truly crucial issue of the day.

Chapter Four.

Dear Suzie, I have been going out with someone from work for over six months now and it's been going really well so I decided to invite him to spend Christmas with me and my family. As you can imagine I was absolutely over the moon when he said he'd love to. The following day he sent me a text saying it was all over and he was about to book a Christmas holiday with his mates. He said he didn't tell me the night before because he wanted to have s.e.x. I still really love him and want him back. What should I do?

Yours A Hopeless Romantic She had their undivided attention now. The three men sat motionless, staring at her across the meeting room table, a whole myriad of reactions swarming over their faces as she finished reading out the letter displayed in all its glory on the projector screen behind her.

One look at Gareth, however, sent a wave of panic through her body. He looked confused, on the borderline of angry. Was she making a ma.s.sive mistake? It had all seemed like such a good idea at 3am that morning when she was bouncing off the walls post four pints of coffee, three rolls of wine gums and two bars of Galaxy as a result of a late night garage run. Standing here now on the brink of professional suicide it seemed like the definition of insanity.

"I've realised that no-one gives the type of advice that would really be useful," she'd said to her bored-looking editor at the beginning of her presentation. "No-one really tells women how to deal with the men who screw up their lives."

"Suzie," Gareth had said holding up his hand signalling her to stop. "When I said sort out the column what I meant was give me something to read that doesn't make my skin crawl, and something that attracts more advertising. What I don't want is some feminist bulls.h.i.t."

"It's not bulls.h.i.t," she replied trying hard to control her anger at his harsh words. "What I was writing before was bulls.h.i.t. Pathetic, run-of-the-mill, send-for-a-leaflet, go-and-waste-your-money-on-counselling bulls.h.i.t that every other agony aunt churns out. What good does that do? Have you ever heard of anyone who has saved their relationship by filling in awkward silences in a room with a middle-aged woman who asks about their irrelevant childhood?"

Gareth took a slug from his cardboard coffee mug without taking his eyes off her.

"Continue," he said putting the coffee back down.

She glanced at Drew for some encouragement but his eyebrows were so far up his forehead they had practically disappeared under is side parting. She'd wanted to run it all past him that morning, but he'd been late in and had come straight to the meeting.

At that point Alex, the third man in the room, was fully absorbed in his Blackberry and barely listening to anything she was saying. She felt a shot of pure anger which gave her the boost she needed. She was still bristling from where he had touched her earlier after he strode into the room, running late.

"Good morning people," he'd declared as if he didn't have a care in the world. "Sorry I'm late Gareth, but it's been bedlam. I've been on the phone all morning trying to pull in a mega-advertiser."

"Don't tell me," Gareth said through gritted teeth, "until it's in writing. I'm sick of your half-baked promises. Now sit down and wait your turn."

She felt Alex walk behind her, clearly unaffected by Gareth's jibe. She hadn't dared look at him, not entirely sure if her emotions were fully in check yet. But before he came into her eye-line she felt his hand on her right shoulder. She leapt up in her chair with surprise before he gave her a sympathetic squeeze and then sat down right next to her.

How dare he touch her? Sympathy and touching was for yesterday when he broke up with her. She looked at him in shock. He stared back and mouthed a silent "Are you okay?" before reaching out and giving her hand a squeeze and painting a fake concerned look on his face.

He didn't have that look on his face now. He was all white and wide-eyed and slack-jawed. She'd had to cough to get his attention before she read out the letter displayed on screen, explaining that it was a mock letter used to ill.u.s.trate her new style of column. Seeing his stunned face hardened her resolve. He deserved this. She deserved this. At some point in the dead of night she'd come to the conclusion she had nothing to lose. Her love life was a disaster and as for her career, well, writing an agony column wasn't exactly fulfilling her dreams of being the next Kate Adie. So screw it. If it all went belly up she'd go and do an Eat, Pray, Love. Although knowing her luck it would turn out to be more Eat, Pray you don't get fat, Love being obese and a spinster.

There was no going back now. She just had to take a deep breath and go through with it and hope that she came out the other side intact.

"And now I will show you how Dear Suzie will be responding in the future," she said leaning over to click onto the next screen without taking her eyes off Alex. She read out the reply letter slowly, allowing every word to sink in.

Dear Hopeless Romantic, You are an idiot.

He doesn't give a toss about you.

Please read the above sentence repeatedly until you believe it, because it is true.

My mailbag is full of women like you. Women writing to me seeking hope. Hope that there is something they can do to turn their nightmare into a fairytale so they can live happily ever after. Well listen to this.

Forget Hope.

Hope is not your friend.

Hope is the devil who will lead you to pointless desperate measures.

So move on. BUT not before you show this man that he cannot tread all over your soaring heart. Not before you teach him there are consequences to his actions. Not before you make him suffer in the same way as he has made you suffer. And if you can't do it for yourself then do it for every other woman out there, to teach him that he has to treat the next one better.

So, Hopeless Romantic, your cowardly colleague has to learn not one, not two but three valuable lessons.