Fortunately he was still holding me tight, so could not hit him any more. Then he said the house was big, cold and lonely without me. And he really liked it best in my flat where it was cosy. And he said that he loved me, he wasn't exactly sure why, but nothing was any fun without me. And then ... God, that stone floor was cold.

When we got up to his bedroom noticed a little pile of books beside his bed. "What are these?" I said, not believing my eyes. "How to Love and Lose but Keep Your SelfEsteem? How to Win Back the Woman You Love? What Women Want? Mars and Venus on a Date?"

"Oh," he said sheepishly.

"You bastard!" I said. "I threw all mine away." Fist fight broke out again, then one thing led to another and we just shagged, like, all night!!!

8.30 a.m. Mmm. Love looking at him when he's asleep.

8.45 a.m. Wish he would wake up now, though.

9 a.m. Will not actually wake him up, but maybe he will wake up himself just through thought vibes.

10 a.m. Suddenly Mark sat bolt upright and looked at me. Thought he was going to tell me off or start screaming again. But he smiled sleepily, sank back down and pulled me roughly to him.

"Sorry" I said afterwards.

"Yes, you should be, you dirty little bitch," he murmured homily. "What for?"

"Waking you up by staring."

"You know what?" he said. "I kind of missed it."

Ended up staying in bed quite a long time after that, which was fine because Mark didn't have any appointments that couldn't wait and I didn't have any appointments ever again for the rest of life. Just at a crucial moment, though, the phone rang.

"Leave it," gasped Mark, carrying on. The answerphone boomed out.

"Bridget, Richard Finch here. We're doing an item on the New Celibacy. We were trying to find a personable young woman who hadn't had sex for six months. Didn't have any joy. So I thought we'd settle just for any old woman who can't get laid and try you. Bridget? Pick up the phone. I know you're there, your loopy mate Shazzer told me. Bridget. Bridguuuuuuuurt. BRIDGURRRRRRRRRRRT"

Mark paused in his activities, raised one eyebrow in manner of Roger Moore, picked up the phone, murmured, "She's just coming, sir," and dropped it into a glass of water.

Minutes since had sex 0 (hurrah!).

Dreamy day, highlight of which was going to Tesco Metro with Mark Darcy. There was no stopping him putting things into the trolley: raspberries, tubs of Pralines and Cream Hdagen-Daaz, and a chicken with a label on saying 'extra fat thighs'.

When we got to the checkout it was Ј98.70.

"That's incredible," he said, taking out his credit card shaking his head in disbelief.

"I know," I said ruefully, "do you want me to chip in?"

"God, no. This is amazing. How long will this food last for?"

I looked at it doubtfully. "About a week?"

"But that's incredible. That's extraordinary."

"What?"

"Well, it cost less than a hundred quid. That's less than dinner at Le Pont de la Tour!"

Cooked the chicken with Mark and he was really quite carried away, pacing around the room expansively, in between chopping.

"I mean it's been such a great week. This must be what people do all the time! They go to work, and then they come home and the other person's there, and then they just chat and watch the television and they cook food. it's amazing."

"Yes," I said, looking from side to side wondering if actually he might be mad.

"I mean, I haven't rushed to the answerphone once to see if anyone's aware of my existence in the world!" he said. "I don't have to go sit in some restaurant with a book, and think I could end up dying alone and. . ."

". . . Being found three weeks later half eaten by an Alsatian?" I finished for him.

"Exactly, exactly!" he said, looking at me as if we had just discovered electricity simultaneously.

"Will you excuse me a minute?" I said. "Of course. Er, why?"

"I'll just be a moment."

Was just rushing upstairs to call Shazzer with the ground-breaking news that maybe they are not the unattainable strategic adversary aliens after all, but just like us, when the phone rang downstairs.

Could hear Mark talking. He seemed to be on for ages, so could not ring Shazzer and eventually, thinking, 'bloody inconsiderate', went down to the kitchen.

"It's for you," he said, holding out the phone. "They've got him."

Felt as if I'd been hit in the stomach. Mark held my hand as I took the phone, shaking.

"Hello, Bridget, DI Kirby here. We're holding a suspect over the bullet. We've obtained a DNA match with the stamp and the cups."

"Who is it?" I whispered.

"Does the name Gary Wilshaw mean anything to you?" Gary! Oh my God. "He's my builder."

Turned out Gary was wanted for a number of petty thefts from houses he'd been doing up, and was arrested and fingerprinted early this afternoon.

"We have him in custody," said DI Kirby. "We haven't obtained a confession as yet but, now we can go ahead on the connection, I'm pretty confident. We'll let you know and then you'll be safe to go back to your flat."

Midnight. My flat. Oh blimey. DI Kirby called back half an hour later and said Gary had made a tearful confession, and we could go back to the flat, not to worry about anyt hing, and remember there was a panic button in the bedroom.

We finished the chicken then went over to my place, lit the fire, and watched Friends, then Mark decided to have a bath. The doorbell rang when he was in there. "Hello?"

"Bridget, it's Daniel."

"Um."

"Can you let me in? It's important."

"Hang on, I'll come down," I said, glancing towards the bathroom. Thought I'd better sort things out with Daniel but did not want to risk incensing Mark. The minute I opened the front door I knew I'd done the wrong thing, Daniel was drunk.

"So you put the police on me, did you?" he slurred.

I started inching backwards away from him while maintaining eye contact, as if he were a rattlesnake.

"You were naked under that coat. You . . ."

Suddenly there was a great bounding of footsteps on the stairs, Daniel looked up and - wham - Mark Darcy had socked him in the mouth, and he was slumped against the front door, blood coming out of his nose.

Mark looked rather startled. "Sorry," he said. "Um." Daniel started trying to get up and Mark rushed over and helped him up. "Sorry about that," he said again politely. "Are you all right, can I get you, um ... ?"

Daniel just rubbed his nose and looked dazed. "I'll be off then," he mumbled resentfully.

"Yes," said Mark. "I think that's best. Just make sure you leave her alone. Or, um, I'll have to, you know, do it again."

"Yup. Right," said Daniel obediently.

Once back in the flat, doors barred, it got pretty wild on the bedroom front. Could not bloody believe it when the doorbell rang again.

"I'll go," said Mark with a heavy air of manly responsibility, wrapping a towel round him. "It'll be Cleaver again. You stay here."

Three minutes later there was bounding of feet outside and the bedroom door burst open. Nearly screamed when DI Kirby put his head round. Pulled the blankets up to my chin, and followed his eye, scarlet with embarrassment, along the trail of clothes and underwear leading to the bed. He closed the door behind him.

"You're all right now," DI Kirby said in a calm, reassuring voice as if I were about to jump off a tall building. "You can tell me, you're safe, I've got people holding him outside."

"Who - Daniel?"

"No, Mark Darcy."

"Why?" I said, completely confused.

He glanced back at the door. "Miss Jones, you pressed the panic button."

When?"

"About five minutes ago. We got a repeated, increasingly frantic signal."

I looked up to where I'd hung the panic button on the bedpost. Not there. I fumbled sheepishly in the bedclothes beneath it, and produced the orange device.