So now you all know. The Bimbo, who callously stole my husband, has a name. She's called Poppy Norton, she's 24, she has a two-year-old daughter called Clara who likes Teletubbies Teletubbies and she goes to lots of parties. Oh. And she used to be a model. In other words, I think you'll agree, she is a woman of substance. and she goes to lots of parties. Oh. And she used to be a model. In other words, I think you'll agree, she is a woman of substance.

I've never actually met Poppy, but when I opened a trashy magazine in the dentist's waiting room to find a big picture of her over a new column, rabbiting on about some parties she'd been to, what clothes she liked, what their little daughter enjoyed watching on television I felt as if I'd received a physical blow. I know my feelings were illogical I don't want Luke back but seeing these inane ramblings made me feel as if a bucket of cold water had been thrown over me. This fluffy little thing was the woman my husband had left his three beautiful children for? Amazingly, none of us have ever met Luke's second wife: with touching loyalty the children decided they had no interest in getting to know her. But now my heart ached to think of Jonty, Tilly and Issy being thrown over for this piece of trailer trash. At the same time I couldn't deny it: Poppy was prettier than I was, even in my heyday, and obviously she was much, much younger. Fair enough, Luke, why bother with a woman with a degree, a cookery diploma and a sterling record of helping out at the PTA when you could have a cookie-cut member of a girls' band.

But my overriding emotion on reading Poppy's column was one of pity. Reading between the lines, I got no sense of a happy home, of a supportive husband; instead I perceived a lonely, young woman trying to fill her days with parties and shopping. Or perhaps I'm imagining that. It can't help that even on the day of our decree absolute, Luke was sending me texts saying: 'I miss you. I love you so much. Please tell me you love me.'

It doesn't help that v.i.a.g.r.a ordered from the internet still regularly arrives in the post for him, more than two years after he moved out. That friends and colleagues keep me informed of spotting my ex canoodling with other women, be it at home and abroad.

It all shows how far I have come since that dark day nearly three years ago when I found out that Luke was carrying on with this piece of jail bait. At the time, losing my husband was like someone dying, but without being able to mourn. Now, however, I see that it was in fact the start of a new life. By throwing Luke out I have regained my self-esteem. My new boyfriend is gorgeous. I'm having great s.e.x I'd virtually given up with my husband. I've been inundated with opportunities to appear on television, to write a novel, to work for magazines.

Still, it hasn't all been easy. I was sort of used to being a single mum, with Luke away so much on a.s.signments, but since he left home and I've been obliged to earn a crust, there's been no choice but to send the children to boarding school. Don't get me wrong, we're not talking Dotheboys Hall here, but it still breaks all our hearts to be separated in this way.

But the fact I have survived has given me much to think about, not least when Luke emailed me recently asking if I fancied dinner. A whole new future began to open up to me. Instead of being the dowdy wife at home looking after the children, I realized I could now be the glamorous woman having a flirtatious dinner with the legendary Luke Norton.

For the briefest of seconds I wondered if I would fall for his charm again. Then I remembered I was busy that night washing my hair and that I was going to be busy every night for the rest of my life. It looks like poor Poppy's busy filling her diary too. I wish her luck.

37.

After two years dreaming about him, brooding on past times, wondering if it would ever happen again and telling herself how well shot of Luke she was, Thea almost couldn't believe it. Dawn had broken over Edinburgh and she and Luke were in bed together. Naked. They'd had s.e.x. All the feelings she'd tried to dismiss for so long were now rampaging like a herd of wildebeest. Like a junkie picking up the needle after years of sobriety, she was back at stage one. She was a Lukeoholic. Adored him. Had missed him as much as she might have missed one of her limbs. She wanted to open her window and shout it to Scotland, but fortunately it was locked and the key was nowhere to be seen, so instead she made do by whispering.

'That was good.'

'Sorry?' Before she could repeat herself, Luke rolled off the bed and grabbed a worn towel from the ugly purple chair in the corner. 'I'm going to jump in the shower. We've got to leave for the airport soon, haven't we? Be careful leaving my room, we don't want anyone to spot us.'

He headed into the en-suite. Thea sat up. Deja vu drenched her like a sudden freak shower. She'd been here before with Luke, in other hotel rooms all over the world: a shared half hour of intimacy, followed by terse reminders to make sure no one saw them. Every time, in the past, she'd hoped next time would be different, but it never was. Even after a two-year break, the pattern was the same.

Slow-burning humiliation crept over her like a vile rash. Hastily, she got off the bed and pulled on her clothes, discarded all over the floor. Opening the door, she peered one way down the corridor, then the other, then satisfied the coast was clear, made the dash for her room. Just time to shower and change before she had to be downstairs for checkout.

All the way back to London, while Luke slept in the seat beside her, she berated herself: how she could have been such an idiot to have succ.u.mbed to him yet again? But at the same time, another voice in her head told her that the s.e.x had been good. Really good. Even exhausted and drunk and p.i.s.sed off with life in general, Luke still knew how to press all Thea's b.u.t.tons and she was pretty sure she knew how to press his back. Why, why, why had she sent that stupid email to Hannah? If she hadn't, he and Poppy would almost certainly have fizzled out and they might have been together by now.

The next few days were even more miserable than Thea could have antic.i.p.ated. The Luke relapse had temporarily distracted her from her work worries, but once she was back in the office there was no escape. Dean was furious; Roxanne was incandescent. Thea decided the only thing to do was keep pestering Leanne like a toddler wanting sweeties until she finally buckled and arranged a new interview time.

'Hey,' said Alexa, stopping by her desk on Thursday morning. 'How's it going? Any word from Jake?'

'He texted a grovelling apology. Not that that will save me from garrotting him next time I see him.'

'Ah, poor Jake! Don't be mean. He's such a sweetheart.'

That sounded heartfelt. Thea looked at her.

'Excuse me? Do I sense a spark between you and Mr Kaplan?'

'Nah. Not my type at all. Too small. But a lot of other women fancied him. He was quite the talk of the Marriott Guatemala City.'

'Really?' Thea was unconvinced. She began dialling Leanne's number for the third time that morning, but with about as much confidence as an eight-month pregnant woman hoping to get out of childbirth.

'h.e.l.lo?'

'Oh hi, Leanne!' Thea said, startled she'd picked up so quickly. 'It's Thea Mackharven, here. How are you?'

'Uh. Yeah, good.'

'Are you in Barbados?'

'I can't tell you that,' Leanne said. 'Minnie would kill me. Somewhere hot, though. Minnie decided she needed a bit of sunshine to get over her cold. Little Cristiano's been playing on the beach, it's beautiful to see.'

'How lovely for you all,' Thea gushed. 'I take it you got my messages.'

'Thea, I'd love to help you, but Minnie's feeling a bit fragile this week. She will will do the interview, I promise, but I can't give you an exact date. I'm sorry.' do the interview, I promise, but I can't give you an exact date. I'm sorry.'

'It's OK, I understand. Just call me as soon as you have something. Take care, Leanne. Enjoy the sun. Have a lovely day.'

Thea hung up and bawled. 'Shiiiiit!' Her phone rang again. 'h.e.l.lo,' she snapped into it.

'Thea?'

'Yes.'

'It's Jake. I'm back. Fancy a drink tonight?'

Luke sat at his desk watching Thea. She looked good with her hair in a ponytail; it showed off her cheekbones. He'd enjoyed his session with her in Edinburgh, not that he could remember that much about it, addled as he had been by jet lag and booze. They'd have a repeat performance some time soon, he thought, watching her chatting to Alexa. He'd leave her waiting a few more days, then next week he'd ask her for dinner.

More than ever, Luke felt in need of rea.s.surance that somebody still wanted him. There'd always been plenty of women around to validate him, prove that he was one of the most desirable men on the planet. But not any more. There'd been an embarra.s.sing moment in Guatemala when he'd made a pa.s.s at the interpreter and she'd laughed and told him he was the same age as her grandfather, and another in Scotland, just before Thea appeared on the scene, when one of the girls at the wedding had called him a 'dirty old man'. Then there'd been the nasty discovery of Poppy's column. He knew they had to have another discussion or who was he kidding? fight about it, but he simply didn't know if he could summon up the energy.

36o His phone rang. It was his eldest daughter, Tilly. Seeing her name, Luke felt a flash of joy, mixed with unease as he thought about today's attack by Hannah. What must it be like to have your school friends reading about your parents in this undignified fashion? Whenever he put this to Hannah, she simply snorted and said he should have thought about that before impregnating a bimbo, which didn't seem exactly fair, but he could never think of a comeback. He was sure Tilly would be calling to berate him about something but still he smiled as he picked up.

'Hi, darling.'

'Hi, Dad. How are you? Wow. I've just been reading Poppy's column in Wicked Wicked. It's sooo, like, book. All my friends think she's ledge.'

'Oh,' said Luke. He had no idea what his daughter meant but she sounded approving. 'Good. Good.'

'I was just wondering, Dad. Do you think we could meet Poppy some time? Only, I think we've been mean to her and we ought to make it up.'

'Have you asked your mum about this?'

A brief pause.

'You know what Mum's like. She'd only say no, but it's up to you, not her.'

'I'll see what I can do,' Luke said, not sure whether to be pleased or depressed that his wife's unwelcome celebrity seemed to be bringing him back in touch with his daughters. 'And how are you, kitten? Working hard?'

'Yeah, yeah, Dad.'

Luke saw his call-waiting light flashing. Loren, Roxanne's secretary. 'Sweetheart, it's an important call on the other line. I'd better get it. Lovely to hear from you, my pumpkin. Speak soon... Hi, Loren.'

'Hi, Luke. Roxanne was wondering if you had a spare moment after work tonight?'

Now that sounded interesting. Roxanne probably still hadn't got over him. Probably desperate to see if she could rekindle their flame. He'd have to think about it...

'Luke?'

'Yes, I'm free.'

'She'll see you in her office straight after the show.'

Thea didn't really want a drink with Jake, but as long as the slenderest of threads connected him to Minnie she had no choice. So at the end of the day she took the Tube to Camden, where Jake was waiting for her in the same pub as before. He was tanned and had a bit of stubble. It suited him. The talk of the Marriott Guatemala City was still pushing it, though.

'I'm really, really sorry,' he said, before she'd even sat down.

'Thanks,' Thea replied and then with great effort, 'I know it's not your fault.'

'Yeah, but I still feel responsible. Getting your hopes up.'

'You can't do anything about Minnie. No one can. She's a law unto herself. But you tried and I appreciated it.' Thea hoped the G.o.ds were looking down on such a display of graciousness. 'Anyway,' she said, 'how was the trip for you?'

'Knackering. But good. Luke's reports were brilliant. We received a huge surge in donations off the back of them. So I'm for ever in your debt.'

'Good,' said Thea. 'You can buy me a drink, then.'

While he was at the bar, she noticed the pub was filling up. A man was setting himself up on a dais with a microphone and noisy gangs were gathering round each table.

'What's going on?' she asked Jake as he returned with the wine. A whole bottle, which seemed a bit presumptuous as she wasn't going to stick around that long.

'It's pub quiz night. I'd forgotten. It's a good laugh, though. Want to have a go?'

'Don't be silly!'

He laughed. 'Why not? The prize is two hundred and fifty pounds. We could donate it to Guatemala Children.'

'I don't do pub quizzes.'

'What a waste. Your general knowledge must be incredible. I bet you know your capital cities. Australia?'

'Canberra,' Thea said, giving him a withering glance.

'Very good. Most people say Sydney. Brazil?'

'Brasilia, of course. Did you think I was going to say Rio?'

He laughed. 'You're a natural nerd. Come on, Thea, let's do it. Why not? What have you got to rush off to?'

He was right.

'Go on, get a sheet then.'

It was a surprisingly enjoyable hour. She and Jake squabbled over what colour zero was on a roulette wheel (she said red, he said green but she insisted) and what the official language of the United States was (she said it had none, he said English but in the end they went with her answer).

'Right, pop music now,' said the compere. 'Tonight we're doing the eighties.'

'Yay!' bellowed Thea. 'My decade.'

Jake grinned. 'Well, at least one of us will know what he's talking about.'

She glared at him with mock froideur. 'No need to be cheeky, youngster. Just because you're jealous I don't wear nappies at night and sleep in a cot.'

'What was the name of the band consisting of Andy McCluskey and Paul Humphreys?'

'OMD! OMD!' Thea yelled. She was on her third gla.s.s of wine and more than a little drunk, she realized. Jake laughed and spread out his hands in ignorance.

'Who had a hit in 1982 with "John Wayne is Big Leggy"?'

'Easy! Haysi Fantayzee.' Thea started singing. 'John Wayne in lovers lane making whoopee...'

'Nineteen eighty-two.' Jake shook his head as if she'd referred to the glorious age of the steam engine. She slapped his hand.

'All right, so how old are you?'

'I'm twenty-eight.' He cleared his throat and squared up like one of the Mitch.e.l.l brothers in EastEnders. EastEnders. 'Got a problem with that?' 'Got a problem with that?'

Thea was wondering if she did, when her phone started ringing.

'Oh f.u.c.k off,' she told it. 'I'm having fun here.' But the lure of a BlackBerry was too strong for her to resist. She glanced at the screen. Number withheld.

'Sorry,' she said to Jake. 'I'd better get it. h.e.l.lo?'

'Is that Thea?' It was an American voice. Female, tremulous, a slight lisp. Thea could only just hear her over the surrounding noise and banter.

'Yes?'

'It's Minnie Maltravers here.'

'Come in, Luke,' Roxanne said. Luke eyed her approvingly. He loved those neat little suits she favoured, that hinted at so much underneath. He was sure he could glimpse a bulge of suspender under the skirt. Yes, he'd definitely been too hasty ending things. He sat down, smiling.

'What can I do for you, Roxanne?'

'I wanted to play you this,' she said, putting a digital voice recorder on her desk. Luke looked at it, confused.

'OK.'

She pressed play. The sound of a phone ringing, then: 'h.e.l.lo?' A man's voice. Slighly wavery. Refined.

'h.e.l.lo.' It was Roxanne's voice, although for some reason she'd affected a terrible c.o.c.kney accent. 'Is that the Bishop of Bellchester?'