Page 18 of The Pop-Up Cake Shop

I’d had a taste of life without him over the past few months, but that wasn’t the same because back then, I’d assumed he’d be returning to the UK, at which point our lives together would resume exactly as before.

But that was off the table now. I was single – for the first time in six years – and I’d be living a different kind of life from now on.

I also found myself thinking about the state of our relationship.

I hadn’t been entirely happy for a while now, but I suppose I’d thought that we’d get back on track eventually. All coupleswent through ups and downs. But then I remembered how I’d felt when I’d thought Richard was about to propose the day before, when he took me to Tiffany’s to buy me a ‘special gift’. It was depressingly funny now to think I’d imagined it could be an engagement ring. (How bloody ironic, in the light of what had actually happened.) But I could distinctly recall now the way my heart had sunk a little as I’d wondered if I was really ready for marriage.

Had it been marriage in general that had given me those instant doubts?

Or was it the thought of marryingRichardthat had sent my heart tumbling?

It hurt so much that he was discarding me for Emily. But maybe in the long term I’d see that actually, ‘ripping off the plaster’ had been the best thing for me. Because what if I’d never actually bumped into Emily and I’d gone home thinking that things were still rosy with Richard. He’d bought me those expensive earrings, after all, which obviously proved that he cared. (Not!) The relationship might have bumbled on for months before he finished it and I’d have been living in ignorance of his deception all that time.

At least now Iknew. And that meant I could get my head together, adjust to my new life and move on.

That made it sound so easy but it obviously wouldn’t be...

Sighing, I hauled myself off the sofa, deciding to put the kettle on for yet another cuppa. But passing a side table, I bashed my thigh on my case which I’d dumped there when I arrived. The case tumbled off the table, disgorging its contents on the rug, and I gave an indignant cry of anguish right there, alone in the silence of the apartment.

My leg hurt where I’d bashed it on the case.

It really felt as if life was kicking me when I was down!

Abandoning the tea, I sank back on the sofa, staring at the jumble of belongings, unable to summon up the energy to clear it all up.

The turquoise box from Tiffany’s lay within reach on the carpet. It would only ever bring back unhappy memories so it would be consigned to a drawer once I was back home.

What a terrible waste of diamond earrings!

Althoughmaybe . . .

I sat up straight, an idea forming in my mind, and a little surge of something positive penetrated the cloud of despair that had settled over me.

Springing to my feet, I walked with sudden determination to the kettle.

My new plan was giving me the lift I badly needed.

I even had my appetite back, I realised, as I bit into a delicious-looking apple turnover from the bakery along the road...

*****

On the way to the airport, I made a brief journey into the heart of Manhattan, before catching my flight home.

Once through passport control, I took the train to Guildford and then on to Sunnybrook. As I walked home from the station, I stopped at the jewellers where – the night before I’d flown to New York – I’d admired the gorgeous bracelet in the window.

It was expensive. Almost a month’s wages! But I’d returned Richard’s diamonds to Tiffany’s (how lucky was I that we’d used my credit card to buy the earrings!) and I still had the money he’d transferred into my bank account to pay me back.

I had a moment’s doubt. Was I really the type of person who would do this kind of thing?

Then I recalled the cool way Richard had told me that we weren’t really suited and how Emily made him feel like a teenager again. He’d allowed me to fly all the way over to New York in total ignorance of what he was up to...

Buoyed up by a surge of anger, I marched into the shop and bought the bracelet.

My heart was banging nervously as I watched the assistant wrap it in delicate white tissue paper and place it carefully into a navy box.

My eye wandered to a tray of ‘girl power’ brooches on the counter. The one declaring ‘RIP the Patriarchy’ on a gravestone was possibly alittletoo strong. Richard might be a sly, cheating scumbag but at least he wasn’t acontrollingscumbag, intent on keeping women in their place.

I did, however, quite like the message on the pink brooch next to it.

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