Fenny slipped the burnt CD into its case and dropped it into the post pack. All she had to do now was call the courier and Eddie would have his damn poster. Jag leapt up onto the desk and poked the post pack. He mewed his disapproval and then rubbed his entire body against Fenny.

“I get the distinct impression you missed me,” Fenny cooed, stroking his fur as her computer made a loud beep. Jag had trodden on the keyboard and the computer had responded with an “illegal operation.” Fenny took this as a sign to stop for the day and set about shutting it down. She’d thrown herself into her job since returning home, desiring the distraction more than anything. Brad had called a couple of times but she’d not answered the phone. Fenny didn’t want to play games anymore; she didn’t want to live in that fantasy world. It wasn’t that Fenny didn’t love Brad, she adored him, but she needed more and it felt like he wasn’t prepared to give it to her. She knew there would be a few weeks, maybe months of regrets and tears, but she felt strong enough that she’d be able to get on with her life even if that little monkey on her hip sent a tingle through her body every time she looked at it. No, Fenella Grey was an independent woman, she certainly didn’t need a man who didn’t appreciate her.

Fenny switched off her computer and got to her feet. She let out a sigh. Yeah, she didn’t need Brad, but deep down she wanted him in her arms, between her thighs and on the kitchen floor with a bottle of chocolate sauce. Instead, however, she was being forced to watch Julia Roberts movies with Jenna who was furious that Paul hadn’t called. When things are good, they’re really good and when they’re not — they’re shit.

Paul arrived back at his apartment and unlocked the door. He was greeted by Lewis, who eyed him up curiously for a moment then promptly ignored him, instead deciding to disappear into the spare room. Paul dropped his bag in the hall and sauntered into the kitchen. There was a stack of unopened letters on the table and a note from his buddy Mikey who’d kindly offered to get his mail and feed the cat.

Paul sniggered and dropped the letter back on the table, then headed into the bedroom where he promptly collapsed onto the bed. He knew he’d encouraged Gina to stay in England, he’d been thoughtful and loving, but now he wished he’d been a selfish bastard and begged her to come home. He reached out and grabbed a framed picture from the bedside table and looked at it miserably. It was their wedding photo, taken before the sprinklers went off. He felt miserable, pathetic and lonely as he held it to his chest. He wanted his wife in his arms, not an empty bed and a cat clawing his head.

Gina took her seat behind her new desk in her new office and looked around blankly. She was supposed to be feeling like she’d achieved something; entertainment editor was a big job with a nice salary. She had everything a journalist could possibly want and yet, to be honest, she couldn’t have cared less. If Paul hadn’t been so enthusiastic, she would have turned it down and gone with him back to Australia. But he’d been so proud of her, she thought she’d be letting him down if she didn’t take it. The problem was, how are you supposed to enjoy the greatest opportunity of your life when you’ve no one to share it with?

She switched on the computer and began rummaging through her box of belongings. She grabbed a beanie giraffe and sat it atop her monitor along with her ocelot, which made her smile a little. Gina had blocked out that kiss she’d shared with Greg and planned to leave it blocked out. Next came her Dilbert calendar and that postcard with Greg on it, which didn’t help her attempt to block things out. She set out her dictionary, thesaurus, quote book, atlas and contacts book, and then pulled out the last thing. Her favorite picture of Paul, looking adorable in his pinstripe suit with a raised eyebrow.

“Why am I here?” she mumbled, running her finger along the edge of the frame. “I should be with you.”

“Coleman,” a voice piped up.

Gina looked up to see the Chief of Staff. “Brian,” she smiled sardonically.

“Get on the blower to our Royal contact, apparently Camilla has come out wearing a feathered hat.”

“And this is newsworthy why?”

“It’s Camilla.”

“In a hat.”

“Coleman, you’re entertainment, not news. Now do your job,” ordered the Chief of Staff before turning on his heel.

Gina waited until he’d disappeared before looking back at her picture of Paul.

“What did I do in a previous life?” she breathed.

Brad knocked on the large wooden door and waited several seconds before Ella appeared.

“Brad, my god when did you get back?” she gasped and wrapped him up in a quick hug.

“About ten minutes ago,” Brad smiled.

“You look exhausted, come in, come in,” Ella urged, moving aside to let him in.

Brad stepped into the hall and heard the familiar babbling of Lilly. He walked straight into the living room and she saw him immediately.

“She’s missed you,” Ella cooed as she headed into the kitchen to make coffee.

“I’ve missed her,” Brad nodded as he strolled over to where his daughter was sitting on the floor. She gave him a broad smile. “What’s this?” he mused, looking at the toy in her little hands and then realised it was the moose Fenny had bought for her.

“That’ll be the moose,” Ella called from the kitchen. “It’s her favorite toy at the moment, major tantrums if we even try and give it a wash.”

Brad lifted Lilly into his arms as he stood up. He smothered her in kisses, causing her to giggle giddily and almost drop her moose, which she took the liberty to hold up in an attempt to show him.

“I like your moose, too,” Brad smiled almost sadly. He shook the expression from his face as he saw it mirrored in Lilly’s and headed into the kitchen.

“Your mail is on the table, there’s only one personal letter,” Ella smiled as she searched for a spoon.

Brad flipped through the bills — junk, paychecks and other mail — until he found an airmail envelope and looked at it strangely. As turned it over and read the back, a tremble ran down his spine: Ritza Crispin. He placed Lilly in her highchair and read the name again.

“I’m just going to say hi to Mochrie,” he announced and made his way out the backdoor. He sat, shocked, on the step as Mochrie dashed over and gave him a tongue bath. “You stupid mutt, just like your namesake,” Brad mused before returning his concentration to the envelope. With fingers shaking he tore it open and began to read.