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chair, knees together, wishing I’d chosen a bigger towel.
    Emma and I listened as Jess opened the door. We didn’t have to strain our ears; it was only a tiny flat. There was no such thing as a private conversation here. We had to text each other if we wanted to keep something a secret.
    ‘Looking radiant as ever, Jess. Pink to make the boys wink, eh?’ said Marc, referring to Jess’s voluminous Pineapple sweatshirt. She wore this to plan her PE lessons, said it made her feel more sporty.
    Jess giggled. Good old Jess. She never let something as flimsy as female solidarity stand in the way of a bit of old-fashioned flirting. I didn’t blame her; Marc had that effect on women. I glanced at Emma. Well, most women. Emma’s mouth moved from gaping to scowling and back again in rapid succession.
    OK, steel yourself. This man broke your heart, remember? Putting aside the issue of the red-sleeved taxi driver for a moment, if he wants you back, he must work for it. You must not cave in as soon as you see him, repeat, you must not…
    Oh God! Jess ushered Marc into the room and my resolve went the way of a Lindor chocolate. All melty and soft-centred. So much for the steel. There was no escaping it; Marc Felton looked like an extra from Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels : fit, stubbly, a bit villainy, but in a totally forgivable come-over-here-and-ravish-me sort of way.
    A little moan escaped from my throat. Emma took a protective step towards me and muttered ‘Tosser’ under her breath.
    Marc’s eyes roamed over my body and he broke into a sexy grin. ‘Like the outfit.’
    The brass neck of the man! All of a sudden I understood the expression ‘blushing to the roots of my hair’. I felt totally exposed, both emotionally and physically. My skin was still damp and I shivered.
    Say something, Sophie. Not like ‘Ooh, I’ve missed you so much, give me another chance and I promise I won’t be boring, pretty please’; something to dazzle him and prove that your life is just as dynamic as his.
    ‘I was in the bath.’
    Terrific.
    If that didn’t have him on his knees begging to go back out with me, nothing would.
    Everyone was standing up except me. I wasn’t sure whether to stand or make them all sit. I stood. The tension on the top of my towel loosened and it took a nosedive. I yelped and grabbed at it, sloshing Cava over my shoulder and dousing Emma’s t-shirt.
    Marc, an eye on the prize as usual, strutted forward. ‘Let me help with that,’ he chuckled.
    ‘Back off, Felton,’ Emma snarled. ‘What did you want anyway?’
    Marc stopped in his tracks.
    I held my breath. If he was coming to ask forgiveness, he might feel uncomfortable doing it in front of the Piper sisters and it was on the tip of my tongue to ask them to give us a moment.
    ‘I can’t find my Nickelback CD.’ He looked at me hopefully. ‘Have you got it?’
    You know that feeling when you get a helium balloon on a ribbon at McDonalds and then you walk outside and the ribbon slips out of your greasy fingers and you watch helplessly as it floats away out of reach, until it’s a tiny speck and then it disappears from sight?
    Well, that.
    I nodded and fled from the room. His precious CD was in my bedroom. I threw on my dressing gown, belted it tightly, collected the beloved item and considered scratching it with my nail file as I slipped it into its case.
    Me? Instantly forgettable. Crappy album? He can’t live without it.
    Sugar puffs.
    I examined my face in the mirror. Eyes a bit red round the rims, but I wasn’t going to cry. I was livid. I stomped back in to the room and thrust it at him.
    ‘Here, take it and blob off.’ I picked up my glass and drained it.
    ‘Oh great! Thanks.’ Marc grinned, oblivious to my annoyance, annoyingly.
    A car horn beeped three times outside.
    ‘That’s your taxi,’ said Jess peering out of the window.
    ‘Yeah, who is that by the way?’ demanded Emma, refilling my glass to the brim.
    Marc rubbed his nose