Page 121 of Who’s That Girl?

‘Please, spare me the sob story,’ he tuts scornfully.

That does it. I feel a burst of renewed outrage. ‘Oh, silly me!’ My voice rises, shrill and angry. ‘How could you possibly know what it’s like to run a business?’

His eyes flash furiously. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Well, how could you?’ I gasp, my words tumbling out in a torrent. ‘You’ve never done anything with your life. You’re still just a barman!’

As soon as the words leave my mouth, I want to stuff them back in.

But it’s too late.

Oliver visibly recoils in shock, a whole range of emotions flitting over his features, before recovering. He looks at me, his jaw set hard. ‘And you’re a bitch,’ he says coldly.

It’s like a slap in the face.

For a moment we both stand there in silence, our ribcages rising and falling, the air thick with insults and anger, and in that moment I wonder how we got here, how this happened, how I can turn it all back and start again.

But I can’t. What’s been said can’t be unsaid.

‘I think you should go,’ I say finally, trying to keep my voice steady.

He nods tightly. ‘Trust me, I’m already gone.’

And with Welly following, he turns and strides out of my flat, slamming the door behind him.

Chapter Thirty-five

Grabbing the brass door knocker, I hammer furiously.

There’s the sound of footsteps and the door is flung open by my younger self, who takes one look at me and gasps, ‘Oh my God, are you OK?’

This time there are tears streaming down my face. In between gasping snorts, I nod vigorously. ‘Yes … fine …’

Like I said, I’ve always been a crap liar.

‘What on earth’s happened?’ she asks anxiously.

Blowing my nose on a crumpled tissue, I shake my head. ‘We had a huge row,’ I manage between sobs. ‘He called me a bitch.’

‘He called you a bitch?’ she exclaims. ‘Who did, your ex?’ Her face flashes with fury. ‘Just you wait, I’ll sort him out.’

‘But I am a bitch,’ I sniffle, tears splashing down my cheeks.

‘You’re not a bitch,’ she protests indignantly.

‘I am, I am.’ I’m wailing now, really quite loudly. In fact I’m making such a scene a couple of people from next door have popped out to see what all the noise is about and are staring at me open-mouthed. Which would usually be more than enough to douse me in self-consciousness and set me alight with shame, but not now. Now I don’t care one jot that I’m making a total fool of myself. I don’t care if complete strangers are pointing at me. All I care about is Oliver.

As the thought hits me, I freeze for a moment, stunned by my admission; then I let out an even louder wail.

‘Why? Because you broke up with your boyfriend?’ Lottie is saying, trying to calm me down by rubbing my shoulder. ‘By the sounds of it, he’s a right idiot.’

‘I’m not talking about my ex-boyfriend,’ I hiccup, looking at her with red, puffy eyes.

‘You’re not?’ She stops rubbing my shoulder. ‘Well, who are you talking about, then?’

‘Oliver,’ I manage to gasp, before bursting into tears again.

Lottie looks at me in confusion. ‘I think you need to come in and tell me all about it.’