The doors of the lift open, and Candy emerges. She is still amazingly thin, considering she’s pregnant. She’s dressed all in black and her blond hair is tied back neatly in a ponytail. She looks at me and then does a double take.

“George! God, you look amazing. What happened to you?”

I give a halfhearted smile. “Oh, you know. Shall we . . . can we go and get a coffee or something?”

“Great!” I can see her taking surreptitious looks at me as we walk down the street. And she hasn’t made one comment about how I need accessories, or a different pair of shoes.

There is a small cafe on the corner and when we sit down I notice that “Stand by Your Man” is playing on the radio. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.

Candy looks tired. She tells me about her hectic schedule and a nightmare fashion shoot she’s trying to set up, but while her voice is bright and breezy, I can see real tension in her face. I think this is the first time I’ve ever seen Candy look stressed.

Maybe it’s the pregnancy, I think.

“So . . . ?” she says expectantly when we make it to a free table with our frothy cappuccinos.

She looks at me, and then at the clock on the wall. I’m guessing I haven’t got much of her time.

“It’s about Mike,” I begin.

“Ah. Yes.” Candy looks thoughtful. “Don’t tell me. He’s leaving me for you. You’ve finally got your revenge. I suppose that’s your victory haircut. Am I right?” Her face is smiling but her eyes are thunderous.

“No!” I exclaim. “Candy, Mike has lied to both of us. I didn’t want you to find out from anyone else: he is going to Malaga, you were right. Only, I’m not sure he’s coming back. He’s got David into a whole load of trouble and he’s buggering off tonight. I just . . . I thought you should know.”

Candy stares at me and doesn’t say anything. Somehow this isn’t going as expected. There is none of the bonding, none of the hugs and tears that this sort of revelation usually brings about in films. Candy is sitting quite still, tight-lipped, and is now gazing into the distance.

“I was the one who told you about the tickets to Malaga,” Candy says sharply. “I don’t see why you had to drag me out of a meeting to tell me something I knew already.”

“I . . . I didn’t know if you knew that . . . he isn’t coming back.”

I look at Candy worriedly. Is she going to have one of those delayed reactions and get incredibly emotional in a minute or two? But her eyes don’t convey any emotion at all.

“Right,” she says crisply, standing up to go. “Is that everything?”

I can’t work out what’s going on. Didn’t I explain myself properly? Doesn’t Candy realize what I’m saying?

“Candy, look, I know this is bad news, and I’m sorry to be the one telling you, but how can you be so calm? Aren’t you worried about the baby and stuff? Don’t you care what an utter shithead Mike has been? What he’s done to David?”

I’m so angry I feel myself wanting to take out my frustrations on Candy, to make her react, to make her cry. Not exactly mature, I know, but it’s been a tough day.

Candy stares at me long and hard and then looks down.

“There is no baby,” she says flatly.

No baby?

“Since when? Candy, what happened?”

“What happened,” she says slowly, “is that I wasn’t pregnant after all. Wasn’t ever pregnant, actually. I thought I was—I missed two periods and felt really bloated. And when I found out that I wasn’t, I couldn’t bear it. I thought that if I could just keep everyone thinking I was pregnant, then everything would be fine. Mike would marry me . . .”

A small tear is wending its way down Candy’s cheek. I try not to feel pleased that she’s finally upset.

“It looks like even a real baby wouldn’t have done the trick anyway,” she says.

“You’re well shot of him,” I say quietly.

Candy nods. “And you’re welcome to him.”

Me? She still thinks that I’m going to Spain with him?

“Candy, he’s not going to Malaga with me. This is not about me and Mike. There’s someone else.”

Candy looks up sharply.

“Someone else? That’s impossible. Who?”

“I don’t know. Some bitch that David works with. She’s stitched up David and now she’s running away with Mike.”

Candy looks me up and down as if she’s trying to work out whether to believe me or not.

Evidently she does, because after a few seconds she looks down and smiles.

“I shouldn’t think he’ll get very far.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” she says, looking me straight in the eye, “that I rang the airline this afternoon and canceled the ticket. The eight-thirty flight to Malaga will be leaving without him. And without this . . .” Candy reaches into her bag and brings out Mike’s passport. “Without this, I don’t think he’s really going anywhere. Do you?”

Her smile breaks into a real grin. Tears are still rolling down her cheeks, but she has a glint in her eye. “I’ve been pretty stupid, haven’t I?”

“You and me both,” I agree.

“I can’t believe I fell for him,” Candy sniffs. “After all those evenings telling you he wasn’t worth it.”

“I thought you had just told me that so you could have him to yourself,” I say, half joking and half accusingly.

“No! Oh my God, Georgie, I would never do that! I mean, I did fancy the pants off him, but I really didn’t mean to be so two-faced. I only let him move in with me because he said if he could just move in with me for a little bit he’d get himself together . . . he said that you two needed a clean break, you know, so that you could get over him properly. . . .

We both start laughing. It sounds so ridiculous now.

“So he didn’t leave me for you?”

“I resisted him for at least two weeks,” Candy smirks. “And then, when I finally gave in, I was so guilt-ridden I couldn’t call you or see you or anything. I only called you the other week because Mike said he’d seen you and I wanted to make sure there wasn’t anything else to it.

David adores you and I couldn’t bear the idea of you letting Mike screw things up, except that I couldn’t say anything because David had said not to say anything about me and Mike. And then when I told you I was pregnant, and you kept talking about Mike, I just lost it.”

“Candy, I’m so sorry. God, we’re both total suckers aren’t we. And Mike isn’t even a good kisser.”

“Mike? God, he’s awful! And you know he’s started to dye his hair?”

We both convulse in giggles, then Candy puts her coffee down.

“Georgie, I haven’t had a drink, a proper drink, in an awfully long time. You don’t fancy one, do you?”

“I would love that. Let’s drink a toast to our abysmal taste in men and to us being proper friends again,” I suggest.

Candy smiles and stands up.

“Not abysmal,” she says. “David’s one of the few good ones.”

I feel a lump in my throat appear as I follow her out into the street.

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ABC Amber LIT Converter v2.02

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It’s 10:30P.M . My answerphone is flashing. Ready for the worst, I press Play on the machine and sit on the edge of the sofa.

“Georgie, are you there? It’s Mike. Pick up the bloody phone. I need to talk to you.

“Georgie, what the fuck is going on? Oh, for fuck’s sake.

“Fucking call me.

“Georgie? Do you think this is funny? Don’t be an idiot—pick up the phone. I know you’re there; they said you weren’t in work today . . .”

I turn up the volume of the television and go to the kitchen to get a bottle of wine. I’m already pretty drunk, but getting drunker seems like a pretty good idea right now. Candy and I made our way through about five gin and tonics earlier and nearly got kicked out of the pub for being so rowdy—very unlike Candy. But now I’m back and I’ve got to face the music.

I don’t know how much Mike knows—it depends how much Vanessa has pieced together really.

To be honest, I was hoping that he’d have been arrested or something by now, but it seems he’s still very much around. At least he won’t be able to go to Spain and David will be okay. I just never want to see him again.

I open a bottle of red, and notice that it’s Bulgarian. I can’t help checking the vintage to see if it’s a 1999. I realize that I have never asked David whether he made that whole thing up about the Bulgarian wine to save me, or whether it’s really true. I wonder if I’ll get the chance to ask him.

The phone rings, startling me. I’m tempted to answer—what if it’s David—but decide that it’s more likely to be Mike, and leave it to be answered by the machine. Sure enough, Mike’s voice soon comes ringing out of my answerphone. He’s trying to sound all friendly, but I can hear the bitterness in his voice. “Georgie, if you’re there, please answer the phone. I didn’t get that package you were sending me. You know I’m relying on you, don’t you? Look, give me a call, okay?”

I decide enough is enough and pull the telephone out of its socket. Then I turn off my mobile for good measure. Frankly, they can all go hang, I decide. What I want right now is a nice hot bath.

I wake up to a loud ringing noise. I open my eyes slowly and try to get my bearings. Okay, so I’m not in my bed, I’m in a lukewarm bath and my skin is all wrinkly. As for the noise, well, obviously that’s the doorbell. Dammit, can’t a girl get just a little peace and quiet?

I stagger to my feet and my head starts throbbing as I pull on a robe. That’ll teach me to drink gin and wine in the same evening. What was I thinking?

The door buzzes again and I hear Mike’s voice call my name. Anger wells up inside me—just who the hell does he think he is? Without thinking, I pick up the intercom. “Sod off and leave me alone,” I say loudly. “Just leave me bloody well alone. You are a pathetic bastard.”