'I know, I'm sorry.'

Brigita tutted. 'That Mr Charlie he is a hero. I give him a cup of tea. He asks if you have any photos of your mother. I say I don't think so.'

'Really?' Did Charlie want to be matched up with Louise? It seemed unlikely. But Poppy had more important things to worry about for the moment.

With Brigita's reprimand ringing in her ears, Poppy stayed in on Sat.u.r.day night. She planned to have a couple of drinks in front of the telly. Having recently started this habit she couldn't believe she hadn't embraced it years ago. But there was no booze in the house, so frustrated, she'd gone to bed early and woke on Sunday feeling unusually clear-headed. Miraculously, Clara was still asleep, so she lay staring at the c.h.i.n.k of light peeking round the edge of the curtain, wondering if Luke was coming home. He'd texted her saying he was staying with friends and thinking about what to do next.

The fact her husband couldn't even bring himself to speak to her angered her so much she resolved not to reply. Luke must despise her, she thought, to make so little effort. She was sick of making all the running. She knew she'd been an idiot to tell Migsy about Minnie, but Luke had done her a greater wrong by marrying her when he didn't love her.

Her thoughts turned to Toby. He was no better. He'd been so cold towards her on Friday night, she had got the message. All the stories Meena had shared with her over the years about one-night stands, stories which had sounded like jolly escapades, took on a new, harsher resonance. Meena had always made it sound like a bit of a lark, but a lot of it must have hurt like h.e.l.l. Of course Poppy had been treated badly before, but that was years ago when she was a schoolgirl. Because her experience of single life had been so brief she hadn't really understood how brutal it could be, how strangely men could behave.

But even though Toby had hurt her, Poppy couldn't honestly say he'd broken her heart. She'd been strongly attracted to him, but she barely knew him. She'd just been flattered that he'd obviously felt the same way about her. All the same, it wounded her that he seemed to be able to take or leave her just as Meena could let a Mars Bar sit in the fridge for days without touching it.

'Mummeee!'

'Hi, darling,' Poppy rolled over, relieved to see her daughter's pink morning face staring into hers. 'Come into bed with me.'

They were lying together, flicking through old magazines, discussing the colours they liked best, when Poppy's phone rang.

'Heeeey!' Why did Meena always sound so d.a.m.n perky? 'G.o.d, Poppy you're really famous now.'

'What do you mean?'

'It's all over the Sunday papers my husband's a stupid c.u.n.t.' Meena giggled. 'Of course they've asterisked out the C word but you don't exactly have to be Stephen Hawking to guess what it might be. I hope my mum doesn't see it. She's on at me a lot right now asking if you're a suitable friend.' When Poppy didn't reply, Meena continued a little more apprehensively. 'Luke must be p.i.s.sed off.'

'I don't know what Luke is.' Poppy's voice was hollow. 'I haven't seen him.'

'You haven't seen him? What? You mean he's left?'

'It looks like it.'

'Oh. Do you want me to come over?'

'Yes, please.' There was a pause, then Poppy said, 'Meena, I'm so sad. I've f.u.c.ked everything up and now I'm going to be a single mum.'

'Hey, hey! Don't worry. What's wrong with being a single mum? You and Clara, you'll be like Kate Moss and little Lila Grace. It'll be cool.'

'What, you mean I'll just go out and party all the time and never see my daughter?' Poppy wanted a drink to steady her nerves, but it wasn't even lunch time yet.

'Of course you'll see your daughter. You'll just sue the a.r.s.e off any photographer who prints her picture and that way you'll get rich. Anyway, don't fret, Pops. I'll be over as soon as I've had a shower and got dressed. Take me what? three hours?'

Poppy looked out of the window. Yesterday the photographers had vanished, but overnight they had reappeared and were standing around examining lenses, drinking coffee and b.i.t.c.hing about how up themselves EastEnders EastEnders' actors were. Horrified, Poppy stepped back behind the curtains. There was no way she was going to face them. Instead, she went into Luke's office and turned on the computer and went online. Once acquainted with the latest coverage, she covered her face with her hands.

'What have I done?'

'My favourite colour is pink, red, purple, orange, blue,' Clara said at her feet.

Although, childishly, she'd been trying not to call Luke, her resistance crumbled. Somewhat to her surprise, he answered.

'Where are you?' she asked. In the background she could hear the noise of a television. No other clues.

'Just staying with a friend from work.'

'Anyone I know?' Poppy asked blandly.

'No, n.o.body,' Luke snapped, then more contritely, 'How's Clara?'

'She's fine. Clara come and talk to Daddy.'

427.

'No, Daddy, go 'way!' said Clara, who was disembowelling a toy racc.o.o.n.

'Sorry.' Poppy paused. 'So when are you coming back?' Into the silence, she asked, 'h.e.l.lo? Are you still there?'

'I'm still here,' he said eventually.

'Luke, I know we've really messed things up but we do need to at least talk. For Clara's sake.'

'I know.'

'So when are we going to do that?'

'I'm not sure. Give me a few days to think about things.'

'All right,' said Poppy. She was about to hang up, when Luke added, 'You wouldn't wa.t me anyway. Now I'm unemployed. I'm not the rich, successful man you married any more.'

'I didn't marry you for your job. I married you because I loved you.' Poppy hung up feeling as if she'd been stung. She thought she was becoming immune to pain but obviously not.

'Mummy, why you crying? Don't cry.'

45.

Several days pa.s.sed. Miraculously, Thea was told that she wouldn't be blamed for the Minnie debacle.

'If Luke can't keep his potty mouth shut that's his fault, not mine,' said Dean. 'And, anyway, it brought in amazing viewing figures. So just f.u.c.k off and try to find some more tantrummy divas to throw water over Marco or tell Emma she shouldn't wear such low-cut tops.'

Luke showed no sign of moving out of Thea's flat. While she was at work, he went out and bought a toothbrush and shaving gear, some socks and underwear, a pair of trousers, a couple of shirts. He hung them in the wardrobe squashing Thea's clothes and at the end of the day, he chucked them in the laundry basket. On Thursday morning, he got cross.

'I don't have any clean pants,' he complained, as Thea pulled on her jacket and picked up her keys.

'Sorry?'

'I've run out of clean boxer shorts. Didn't you wash any?'

Thea was aghast. 'Er, no. Didn't you?'

For a second Luke looked vaguely embarra.s.sed. But only for a second.

'I don't know how to work your washing machine.'

Thea took a deep breath. She'd been doing a lot of this lately. 'Luke, you've been to Kashmir and Somalia and Afghanistan and East Timor. You can work out how to use a washing machine.'

'What temperature would you wash underwear at?'

'Sixty degrees to be on the safe side. Now I have to go. I'll be late for work.'

'Just show me,' he said, trying to negotiate, as if she was the head of some Taliban faction needing to be talked in to giving an interview.

'I'm going to be late. I'm on thin ice at work already.'

Wrong thing to say.

'At least some of us have work to go to. Show me. Please.'

So Thea explained to Luke how to fill the ball, put it in the drum and turn the dial to the required temperature.

'Then when it's all finished you get it out and hang it up in the bathroom.' Before he could ask for guidelines on that, she continued, 'I'm meeting my friend Rachel for a drink after work so I'll be back quite late.'

'What will I do for dinner?' Luke sounded as if she'd told him he had to do a duty tour of 'Nam.

'I don't know. Get something from the shops? I've got to go now.'

It was a relief to swap the increasingly claustrophobic flat for the sweaty, unreliable Tube and even more of a relief to arrive at the office. The pa.s.sing of Luke, like the pa.s.sing of everyone in the media, had been swift and silent. Already, you could barely remember the days when Luke had reigned supreme. And Marco, although Thea would only have admitted it after having all her fingernails ripped out, was doing a much better job as chief anchor than she might have predicted.

430.

'It's annoying, isn't it?' Lana said, as they sat watching the show from their desks in the newsroom.

'He's not nearly as slimy as he used to be,' Thea agreed grudgingly. 'It's as if he's suddenly grown up.'

'Luke always seemed a bit bored, as if the job was slightly beneath him. You can tell Marco's absolutely loving it. By the way how is is Luke?' Luke?'

Thea froze. The idea of the office finding out he was living with her horrified her, like a teenager might be terrorized by getting a pimple on the morning of the prom.

'I've no idea,' she said after a tiny beat.

'Oh? I thought you might have heard from him.' Lana's face was a picture of innocence. 'You were such good friends. Oh well, he's probably too busy s.h.a.gging his new piece of totty, whoever she may be.'

'Mmm. G.o.d, look at the time. I must call a contact.'

Lana lowered her voice. 'The rumour is he's moved in with some other young woman. You've got to hand it to the old greaseball, he never gives up.'

Just then, to her relief, her phone rang. 'Sorry,' she mouthed insincerely. 'Hey, Rach, do not even think think about telling me you've gone into labour and won't make it to the pub.' about telling me you've gone into labour and won't make it to the pub.'

'What? Oof. Just felt a twinge. Yikes! What was that?'

'Rachel! Are you OK?'

'Ha, had you! Don't worry, the baby's under strict instructions to stay in. I've got more important issues to attend to than the birth of my own child.'

'Get its priorities straight from the start,' Thea agreed. 'Mummy's friends will always take precedence.'

431.

'Absolutely. Anyway, I was calling to say all's in order and I'll see you at half eight.'

'In the vegan Indian?'

'No, b.u.g.g.e.r that, in the Prince Alfred. As of a month's time I'm never going to go out again, so I might as well enjoy my last days in the boozer while I still can.'

On her way to the pub, Thea felt liberated like the man in the final scene of Midnight Express Midnight Express. This was her first evening off, as she couldn't help thinking of it, since Luke moved in. She had had to put up with six whole evenings of cricket and bad Westerns with Luke hogging the remote control. Evenings that she would usually have spent wallowing in a Jo Malone bath with a face pack on and Bob playing on her podcast were now ruined by Luke rattling the door handle saying, 'Are you going to be long? I need a pee.' Evenings when she had to rinse Luke's shaving hairs from the basin before she brushed her teeth and where s.e.x had been transformed overnight from a source of unspeakable bliss into another ch.o.r.e that had to be performed, whether she was in the mood or not.

Thea hadn't thought it would be like this, but then she hadn't thought anything much, she realized. Her dreams about Luke had never featured any sort of domesticity, because domesticity just didn't float her boat. She'd somehow imagined them moving from hotel room to hotel room, with staff to make the beds and bring them meals under silver domes, with the buzz of the story they'd covered that day to drive their conversation.

Home was somewhere to be alone. She realized how much she relished her evenings of silence after the chaos of the office, her weekends with a packet of Skittles and a fat detective novel. She remembered that all her adult relationships had come to an end when her boyfriends had wanted to go round Ikea with her and have dinner parties. Why did she think things were going to be any different with Luke?

And then there was Jake. She hadn't heard from him and she didn't blame him. Every day, she thought about calling him. Emailing at least. But every day she restrained herself. She liked Jake, liked him quite a lot. She'd had good s.e.x with him. But she was with Luke now and they had to make things work. After so many years of wanting him, it was too humiliating to admit she might have changed her mind.

'What can I get you?' she asked her friend, who was slumped on a banquette. Then she noticed the wine nestling in an ice bucket and the two gla.s.ses.

'Rachel! What's happened?'

'Oh, don't you start. I couldn't stand it any longer. I'm only going to have a gla.s.s. Or two. I mean, the b.a.s.t.a.r.d's cooked now, so what difference can it make? Anyway, what about you? What about Luke? Is it going any better?'

'Not really.' Thea filled her gla.s.s. 'It's so weird, we've been all over the world together in intense situations, under huge pressure, being shot at, but living in a flat in Stockwell seems to be pushing us to the limit.'

'It's not quite as glamorous is it?'

'Excuse me? Are you saying my flat's not glamorous?' They both giggled, thinking of the slightly peeling paintwork. Then Thea sighed. 'You're right, it's not. Luke keeps complaining that it's studenty. I suppose he's used to something more... homely. But I hate all that. And he's used to someone cooking him dinner every evening and doing his washing and he simply can't handle the fact that I don't do that sort of thing.'

'Maybe you're going to have to start.' Rachel shrugged. 'I mean, I do all that for Dunc.'

'But I can't can't,' Thea said. 'It's just not me.'

'It wasn't me either, but you learn.'

'But...' Watching her friend's philosophical expression, Thea had the sense that she'd spent her whole life playing a game but with the wrong rule book. 'But did suffragettes throw themselves under horses so we could end up doing the washing and cleaning and cooking as well as having jobs?'

'And doing the childcare.' Rachel patted her enormous b.u.mp, somewhat apprehensively. 'At least you don't want any part of that.'

'Are you having second thoughts?'