Dexter shrugged and yawned. ‘I wouldn’t say every single thing.’

‘Yes you would! OK, how about those trousers?’ Pointing accusingly at the TV screen, where Kylie Minogue was currently twirling and pouting along to her latest single, Nuala demanded, ‘What would you say if I bought a pair like that?’

Kylie’s trousers were primrose yellow, shimmery and skin tight. Her perfect little bottom was now wiggling fetchingly this way and that in time with the music.

‘Are you serious?’ said Dexter in amazement. ‘With your thighs? You’d look bloody awful.’

‘You see? That’s exactly what I mean.’ Nuala’s voice rose an octave. ‘You have no respect for me. You criticise me all the time and I’ve had enough. I’m not going to put up with it any more.’

‘OK,’ said Dexter.

‘And you can stop watching that!’ Realising that his attention had been drawn back to Kylie’s pert, gyrating bottom, Nuala snatched the remote control away from him and switched off the TV. ‘This is important! We’re having a discussion here and the least you can do is listen!’

Actually, the authors of the book advised that all discussions be carried out in a calm and civilised manner, but this was easier said than done.

‘ We aren’t having a discussion,’ Dexter pointed out. ‘You’re just having a rant. All I’m trying to do is watch the TV in peace.’

‘You treat me like dirt,’ Nuala exploded. ‘Like a piece of old rubbish! And I’m not putting up with it any more.’

‘You’ve said that already.’

Empowerment, thought Nuala. Self-respect. Don’t Be A Doormat.

‘ I’m serious,’ she insisted. ‘I mean it. You have to stop belittling me, criticising me, making me feel small.’

‘Or you’ll do what?’ Dexter was sounding supremely disinterested.

Right. Shock Him To His Senses.

‘Or it’s all over between us,’ said Nuala, her heart beginning to clatter. ‘Finished.’

With Kylie no longer doing her twirly thing on TV, silence filled the room. Finally, nodding slowly, Dexter said, ‘OK. If that’s what you want.’

What? What was that supposed to mean? Nuala’s eyes widened in panic. Surely she’d misunderstood.

Tentatively she said, ‘So ... you’ll stop doing it?’

Dexter gave her a measured look. ‘Come on, it’s not working, is it? You’re absolutely right.

Ending it now would be the best thing all round.’

‘B-but ... you can’t mean that!’ Feeling as though she was sinking into a hole of her own making, Nuala croaked desperately, ‘I only said it to give you a scare.’

‘No you didn’t.’

‘I did! I don’t want us to split up,’ Nuala wailed.

‘You say that, but subconsciously you do,’ said Dexter, ‘and you’re right. I mean, look at us, we’re hardly love’s young dream, are we? You couldn’t call us happy. One of the old blokes in the bar the other night asked me if I’d blacked your eye, can you imagine that? He actually thought I’d thumped you and chucked you down the stairs.’

Numbly, Nuala said, ‘So did Maddy.’

‘Well then, there you go. If that’s what people think I do to you, there has to be something seriously wrong.’

Oh God, panic attack, this wasn’t supposed to be happening. Beginning to hyperventilate – and jettisoning the first and most important rule of Don’t Be A Doormat – Nuala whimpered, ‘But I love you!’

‘No,’ shaking his head, Dexter hauled himself to his feet, ‘you don’t. You’re just scared of being on your own.’

‘Don’t do this to me,’ begged Nuala, scarcely able to take in what she was hearing. ‘I didn’t mean to say it, I was only trying to be more like Kate.’

‘Exactly. You can’t try to be more like somebody else,’ Dexter’s tone was almost sympathetic now,

‘because it never works. You’re you, Nuala. You shouldn’t have to change. We aren’t right for each other, that’s all. And deep down, you know it as well as I do.’

‘Where are you going?’ Nuala whispered as he headed for the door.

‘It’s ten past five. I’ve got a pub to open up.’

A sensation like cold cement trickling into her stomach caused Nuala to grip the side of the sofa.

Fearfully she said, ‘And where ... where am I going?’

Pausing in the doorway, Dexter ran his fingers through his receding hair.

‘That’s up to you. I’m not a monster, Nuala, I’m not about to turf you out into the street. I’ll sleep on the sofa until you find somewhere else to stay.’

Oh God, this was unbearable, already he was being far nicer to her than he’d been in months.

Maybe if she hung on for a while, he might

‘I’m not going to change my mind,’ said Dexter, who had always possessed the uncanny ability to know what was going on inside her head.

In desperation Nuala blurted, ‘But you don’t know that for sure! You might realise you’ve made a horrible mistake.’

‘I won’t, because I haven’t.’ Calmly, Dexter checked his watch. ‘Nuala, I’m sorry, but I have to open the pub. Trust me, you’ll be fine. In fact, give it a few weeks and you’ll thank me for this.’

Which just goes to show how stupid you are, Nuala thought hysterically, tears filling her eyes as Dexter made his way downstairs. Because all I want to do is die.

Chapter 28

‘OK, OK, this isn’t going to help.’ Jake was seriously beginning to regret opening the front door now. Girls with boyfriend trouble, hell bent on unburdening themselves, weren’t his forte at the best of times, but when he had a night out planned in Bath they were a complete pain in the bum.

Jake was fond of Nuala, it went without saying, but she had only come over to the cottage to regale Maddy with her woes. When he’d told her Maddy wasn’t here, he’d expected Nuala to leave, but she’d come in and started offloading her woes onto him instead.

‘I don’t care! I’m going to sue the bloody woman who wrote this sodding bloody book!’ Ripping out yet another page and crushing it into a ball, Nuala wailed, ‘Eight pounds ninety- nine, can you believe that? I actually paid her eight pounds ninety-nine to completely bugger up my life ... aaarrgh!’

Jake, who’d been in the shower when the doorbell had gone and was only wearing a purple towel, ducked as the balled-up paper missile whistled past his head. The kitchen floor was awash with them and Nuala evidently planned to keep on going until she’d used up every page, fuelled by the bottle of Bombay Sapphire gin she’d brought along with her from the Angel.

‘You shouldn’t be drinking that stuff on its own,’ said Jake. ‘At least put some orange juice with it.’

‘Don’t bully me. This is my worst night ever. Do you think he’ll change his mind?’ Nuala pleaded, sloshing another inch of gin into her glass.

‘Honestly? No.’

‘No?’ She looked distraught. ‘You don’t mean that!’ With a sigh and a surreptitious glance at his watch, Jake saw that it was eight o’clock already. Maddy, having left her mobile phone at home, was uncontactable. Sophie was staying over at Tiff’s house tonight. And since he clearly wasn’t going to be allowed to abandon Nuala in her current state of drunken grief, he may as well give up any thought now of going out.

‘Look,’ he said. ‘These things happen. You and Dexter were never right for each other.

You’ll be over him in no time.’

‘Never.’ Misjudging the angle of her glass, Nuala dribbled gin down her chin.

‘You deserve so much better,’ Jake persisted, this being a useful line he often resorted to himself.

‘Oh, do me a favour, I’m not that stupid. Anyway, you have no idea how I feel,’ Nuala said miserably. ‘How can you? You’ve never been rejected in your life.’

Jake smiled briefly to himself as he opened the fridge and pulled out a carton of orange juice. If only she knew.

Aloud he said, ‘That’s absolutely not true. I wrote a love letter to Madonna when I was twelve and did she write back? Never, not one word. I was distraught.’

As he edged towards the door, Nuala looked up fearfully, clearly terrified of being left on her own. ‘Where are you going now?’

Jake indicated the bath towel slung round his hips.

‘Call me old-fashioned, but I thought I might put some clothes on.’

Still wary, she said, ‘And after that?’

‘After that?’ Realising that he really was stuck here for the evening, Jake decided he may as well make the best of it. Ruffling Nuala’s already ruffled hair, he said affectionately, ‘I’m going to help you finish that bottle of gin.’

‘Thanks.’ Nuala’s mouth began to wobble with relief; she couldn’t have handled being abandoned by two men in one night. ‘Just to warn you though, I may get a bit weepy.’

‘Hey, don’t be daft.’ Jake flashed her a grin; he’d had to cope with more than his fair share of weeping females in his time. ‘Shoulder to cry on? I’m your man.’

By eleven o’clock the bottle of Bombay Sapphire was finished.

‘Empty. Bugger.’ Nuala looked bereft. ‘What are we supposed to do now?’

‘Stop drinking?’ said Jake. ‘It’s a miracle you’re still awake.’

‘I’m too depressed to sleep.’ She pulled a suicidal face. ‘OK if I stay here?’

‘Course you can. The bed’s made up in the spare room.’

‘Oh God, what am I going to do?’ Nuala closed her eyes in despair; every so often she forgot what had happened, then the next moment it all came rushing back to her, making her head spin with misery.

‘Everyone’s going to be sniggering behind my back. I feel so humiliated. I’ll be the laughing stock of Ashcombe.’