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heavy arm and searched on the floor beside the bed for my handbag. I pulled out my iPhone and texted Becky. She would want to know how the evening had gone.
    “Everything is okay,” I texted. Because it was okay. Wasn’t it?

The next morning began as had a thousand mornings of our relationship. Michael’s radio alarm broke the early silence with the dulcet tones of Chris Moyles’s morning show. Michael groaned and rolled over to press the snooze button. Three minutes later Moyles was back with the tail end of the story he had been telling before.
    Without really opening his eyes, Michael got out of bed and walked like a zombie to the en suite bathroom. I heard him turn on the shower. He gasped as the water hit him. It was either colder or hotter than he expected. Shock over, he began to sing tunelessly as he went about his ablutions. I took that to be a good sign. People only sing when they’re happy, right?
    I sat up in bed and surveyed my reflection in the mirror on his wardrobe. Surprisingly, I looked okay. Although I hadn’t taken my makeup off the night before, the damage wasn’t so bad. I didn’t look as though I had been sobbing my heart out the previous evening. Instead I looked as though I’d just had a slightly heavy night on the champers and, if I said so myself, almost foxy.
    Poufing up my artfully disheveled hair, I got out of bed and skipped, naked, to the bathroom.
    Michael was out of the shower and drying himself off. As I pushed open the bathroom door, he snatched his towel closely to himself as though I had surprised him.
    “Sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
    “It’s okay,” said Michael, working a corner of his towel into his ear.
    I leaned against the door frame and arranged my body to best effect.
    “Can I get in the shower?” I asked.
    “Of course,” he said. He stepped to one side so I could pass him.
    “Have you finished in here? I mean, are you sure you’re properly clean?” I asked. He didn’t take the playful hint that he should jump back into the shower with me.
    “I’m clean,” he said.
    For the next five minutes or so I practically performed the Dance of the Seven Veils behind that shower curtain in the hope that he might change his mind and join me for a quick rubdown, but he didn’t. He didn’t even glance up to see my sexy silhouette. He brushed and flossed his teeth. He shaved. Then he went back to working on his ears. This time with a Q-tip.
    Eventually I had to get out of the shower. It was only then that I noticed there was no towel for me.
    “Oh, have this,” he said, handing me the one he had used to clean his ears. “All the others are in the wash.”
    “Okay.” I tried to make the best of it. I wiggled it across my shoulders in a little shimmy. It wasn’t very big and I was starting to feel cold. Meanwhile Michael combed his hair flat across his head.
    “So,” I said, preparing to seal the deal. “I was wondering what you want to do this weekend.”
    “What?”
    “This weekend?”
    Michael stopped combing his hair and just stood there, with the comb still poised over his head. He looked at me via the mirror.
    I pressed on. “I don’t have anything planned at all, though Iwould like to go have a look for Becky and Henry’s wedding present. You can come if you like.”
    “I have other plans,” said Michael.
    “Like what?” I asked. “Anything I can go along with?”
    Michael paused. He cleared his throat. “I mean I wasn’t intending to spend my weekend with you.”
    “But …”
    “Ashleigh.” Michael put down his comb and gave me that sorrowful smile. Still via the mirror. He wasn’t going to turn around and give me that smile in person. “We went through this all last night. You and me. We’re finished. You know we are. We can’t carry on pretending. This just isn’t working out.”
    I suddenly felt far colder than I should have, even if I was wet and dripping in an unheated bathroom.
    “But you just slept