‘Not unless you come at dawn and I'm not sure I fancy having my hair done with Vince snoring in the bedroom.' Bron laughed. 'Let's go up and sort out what you're wearing and then I'll tell you about my new project. I'm going to make an official wedding cake!'

‘Bron, that's marvellous. You always were a grand baker. Are you getting it iced professionally?'

‘No!' Bron squeaked her indignation. 'I'm icing it. It's going to be tricky because it's a tree. You know, one of those ones like lollipops that posh restaurants have outside their doors.'

‘My goodness, Bron.'

‘Trouble is, I don't know where I can make it. It has to be in a properly approved kitchen and also one big enough.' Pat went quiet for a moment and then suddenly looked very pleased with herself. 'I think I can help you there. The woman I have in mind is away at the moment, but I'll get back to you as soon as I can. She's lovely, I know she'll let you use her kitchen if she can. It's been through all the checks apparently, you know, health and safety.'

‘Oh, Pat!' Bron put her arms round her and gave her a hug. 'You're amazing.’

Pat hugged her back. 'Roger doesn't know what he's lost by cheating on you.’

They released each other and Bron gathered up their coffee mugs and put them by the dishwasher. 'I think he did know. He thought he wanted a little woman to be at his beck and call, but in fact what he really wanted was someone more exciting. It's a perfectly valid choice.’

Really, thought Bron, she had been just as bad for him as he had been for her. They had both dragged each other down.

Having helped Pat decide on what to wear for her important lunch with an association she was certain Sarah would condemn as too sexist and retro for words, Bron decided to cook a special meal for James. It was, she realised, a knee-jerk reaction. The way to Roger's heart had been through his stomach and although she didn't want to reach James's heart, he had been kind to her and she wanted to do something nice for him in return.

But what should she cook him? The trouble with cooking for someone you hardly knew was that you had to second-guess their tastes. He'd cooked her an omelette when she'd moved in: he might well be vegetarian. One solution would be to go home tonight and ask him, and then invite him for a meal, but that would make the whole thing seem a bit formal. She would much prefer to just leave a note on his front door saying, 'Don't bother to cook, just come round to mine at about seven.' That way it would be nice and casual. All she wanted to do was to save him the bother of cooking, and perhaps eating something nicer than he might make for himself. Everyone liked to be cooked for once in a while, especially when they lived alone as he appeared to do. She hadn't noticed him staying away at all or a potential girlfriend visiting him. But then she didn't really know that much about him, just that he seemed a kind man who liked to keep pretty much to himself.

Having wandered up and down the high street and stared into the butcher's window for a while, Bron decided she'd just have to ring and ask him.

‘James? It's Bron, your new neighbour.’

He chuckled. 'Vague as I can be, I haven't forgotten who you are yet.'

‘Oh good. I was just ringing because I wanted to cook you a meal – to say thank you. Tonight OK?'

‘That would be excellent.'

‘Not sure about that, but I'll do my best.' Bron suddenly found herself a bit more anxious about this than she thought she would have been. 'So, are you vegetarian? We had eggs..

‘No.'

‘Or vegan?’

He chuckled. 'I think that's pretty much a given. I couldn't be a vegan if I ate meat, now could I?'

‘No,' said Bron, feeling silly. 'Any particular hates?’

‘Anything except eggs would be great.’

Bron felt herself blush and was pleased he couldn't see her. 'I'd forgotten about the hens. About seven, then?’

Having decided that she definitely mustn't cook chicken – he wouldn't want to eat his pets' relations – she couldn't think of anything else that wouldn't take hours and hours.

She wandered aimlessly up and down the High Street, searching for inspiration, wishing she hadn't decided to leave her cookery books behind. She'd ask Pat to collect them for her. She didn't want to go back there if she didn't have to. At least there'd be no doubt about them all belonging to her.

Then, somehow, before she knew how it had happened, she found herself outside the salon, staring in the window. She suddenly thought that there was a computer there, she could look up a recipe on the Internet – a tried and tested one that she knew would work.

She was trying to look through the window without being seen when one of her clients spotted her and waved. Before Bron could indicate that she didn't want to be seen, Sasha, obviously more on the ball than she was, spotted her, and shot out of the door, grasping her wrist like the Ancient Mariner, only in fishnet tights.

‘Have you decided to come back?' Sasha was wary, testing the water in case Bron planned to rush into the salon and declare Sasha a total slapper, or some such. 'Your job's here if you want it.' Maybe she'd finally realised what a good hairdresser she'd lost.

She didn't add 'provided you don't make trouble' but she didn't need to. Sasha had always been well able to make her requirements known without having to express them out loud.

Bron looked down at her arm, which had the effect of making Sasha loosen her grip. 'Er, no, it's all right. I mean, I don't want my job back.’

Just being next to Sasha on the pavement was horrid enough. Bron would rather do anything than go back into the salon with its bitchiness, long, boring hours and all the little arguments about tips.

‘So why are you here?' Sasha's smile was definitely false but a little more relaxed. Bron smiled back, equally falsely.

‘I left some things here and I also wondered if I could borrow the computer? I need to look something up on the Internet.' She might as well use it now she was here.

Sasha considered. Would Bron make trouble if she refused? She obviously couldn't decide. 'OK then. If you're not too long.'

‘Thanks.' Bron smiled and walked past Sasha into the shop.

A couple of her ladies were sitting under driers. Spotting Bron they called out to her, 'Hello dear! How nice to see you.'

‘I was told you'd left when I rang yesterday. Now here you are,' said one.

‘Come for your cards, have you? Now, Sasha, don't you make any trouble for her, she's a lovely girl. Always did my hair just as I like it.’

The other one had been looking at Bron thoughtfully. 'Not in the family way, are you? You wouldn't want to be working with all these chemicals if you are.’

Bron, who was wearing a loose summer top over her jeans, decided not to be offended. Sasha gave Bron a they think-you're-fat look, which Bron ignored.

‘Not that you're showing yet!' said the woman, anxious lest she'd put her foot in it.

Bron laughed and revealed her normal flat stomach under her top.

‘Well, if you will go round in a nightie that doesn't show off your nice figure, what can you expect?' said the woman, still embarrassed.

Bron laughed again. 'No, I'm not expecting, but I have left. Sasha is very kindly allowing me to use the Internet. I've left my boyfriend too.' It was Bron's turn to look meaningfully at Sasha.

Sasha said, 'If you want to use the computer, go on through. You know where it is. And don't be too long. I'll need to order some stuff soon.’

Bron smiled at her ex-clients. 'You can always contact me privately if you want to.' She rummaged in her bag for the business cards she had for weddings. 'Here's my mobile number.’

Sasha's hatred was almost audible. It's because she's in the wrong, thought Bron. She can't forgive me.