Page 103 of Who’s That Girl?

‘What on earth has got into you?’ she reprimands hotly. ‘I’m sure if you call him up now, he’ll take you back.’

‘I don’t want him to take me back!’ I exclaim. And if there was any doubt in my mind, there isn’t now. ‘I’m not in love with him, and I don’t think he’s in love with me either,’ I add, remembering how concerned he was to be losing the house and the survey money, not me.

‘But he seemed perfect for you.’

‘On paper, yes,’ I admit, ‘but not in reality. Miles is a great guy, but not for me, Mum. He just never really understood me.’

‘Do you think I understand your father?’ she butts in. ‘Thirty-five years we’ve been married and that man’s still a mystery to me.’

‘Mum, that’s different. You love Dad.’

‘But, Charlotte —’

As I zoom under the bridge, the line suddenly goes dead. I feel a beat of secret relief and put my foot down.

As I turn into my old street, I spot my vintage VW parked back outside the house. Well, I use the word ‘parked’ loosely, but it’s about three feet away from the kerb and left at a jaunty angle, as if someone was just driving along and got bored and abandoned the car in the middle of the road.

Which, now I come to think of it, I was wont to do, I reflect, pulling up behind the shiny new bumper. Obviously it’s just come back from the garage, I note, turning off the engine. Hopefully she followed my advice about taking a male friend with her to pick it up. That way, she won’t have got ripped off, like I did.

Feeling cheered up, I climb the steps to my old house and reach for the brass dolphin door knocker. I rap loudly. There’s the sound of footsteps and then the door swings open.

‘Hi, it’s me again.’

I’m expecting my younger self to be hung-over, I’m expecting her to be suffering from the worst headache of her life, and I’m expecting her to look like shit. What I’m not expecting is for her to be crying her eyes out.

‘Oh my God, are you OK?’

Tears are streaming down Lottie’s face, and her eyes are all red and puffy. In between gasping snorts, she nods vigorously. ‘Yes … fine …’

I was always a crap liar.

‘What on earth’s happened?’ I ask anxiously.

Blowing her nose on a crumpled length of damp toilet roll, she looks at me with total despair. A fist of worry clenches my stomach. Oh my God, what can it be? She looks utterly distraught. Panicked, I start flicking through my stash of memories. I can’t ever remember being this upset. What can it be?

‘Billy Romani,’ she manages to hiccup, before dissolving into more heartfelt sobs.

At the mention of his name, I feel myself stiffen. Of course. Now I remember being this upset. It was when I discovered he’d gone off with another girl.

‘What about him?’ I demand, feeling like the protective big sister.

Her chest is heaving up and down, and she begins stammering between hiccups, ‘He’s been seen … with that rich girl … who drives a Porsche …’

‘Liberty,’ I say grimly.

Her face screws up like a crumpled paper bag and she lets out a pitiful wail. It takes a few moments before she can speak, and then it’s more of a stammer. ‘Apparently, they are seeing each other. Apparently, he’s in –’ she hesitates, as if unable to say the words – ‘in love with her,’ she gasps, and then buries her face in her piece of toilet roll.

‘He’s in love with her trust fund,’ I console, putting my arm round her.

I’m rewarded by a brief smile, but then she starts sobbing again.

‘Hey, come on, it’s not so bad,’ I soothe, giving her a squeeze. ‘Look on the bright side – at least I warned you about him.’ I feel a swell of relief that I managed to do that. ‘At least you didn’t go home with him after the concert. Now that would be much worse.’ I see Lottie’s expression. ‘Oh my God, you did go home with him, didn’t you?’

She nods mutely.

‘After everything I said?’

‘I know, but I thought …’