The days after saying goodbye to Tom following the funeral were the worst that Ashleigh had ever experienced, even more terrible than when her father had died. It was an awful comparison to make, but the guilt made it all so much worse. She’d seen films where people were sick with shock or at bad news, but she’d never believed it could happen in real life.

She’d left Tom when he needed her, and Bertie too, all because she was too selfish to put her own feelings to one side. She’d had no control when her father died, but she’d chosen this and the guilt tore at her from the inside out.

Almost as soon as she’d got through the front door, she’d run to the toilet and thrown up, over and over again.

****

‘What on earth’s happened, darling?’ Ashleigh scraped open her eyes, her mother looming over her. Carol had obviously let herself into the flat and if there’d been an ounce of energy left in Ashleigh’s body she’d have jumped out of her skin. As it was she lay, like a lump of rock, on the sofa in her front room, where she’d spent most of the last twenty-four hours.

‘Why has something got to be wrong?’ The effort of speaking scratched her throat. Was it too early for a drink?

‘Because you’re sleeping at two o’clock in the afternoon.’ Carol sat on the edge of the sofa, forcing Ashleigh to turn on her side. ‘And because I saw the dream catcher I bought you hanging up at the window. You hate all my new age stuff, you’ve told me often enough.’

Ashleigh squinted, the light burning her eyes, which were desperate to close again. Had she really hung that thing up in the hope it could live up to its promise and filter out all the bad thoughts? Slowly she focused on the window. There it was, in its lopsided position, looped over the window opener.

‘I’d forgotten I did that.’ She shifted into a different position. ‘But I hardly think it calls for an intervention.’

‘Darling, when you start buying into my theories and taking my advice, trust me, I know it’s time to panic.’ Carol smoothed back her hair and Ashleigh realised, to her surprise, that she wanted her to stay.

‘I’ve been having a bit of a rough time and I was willing to give anything a shot last night, just to get some sleep.’ Every time she’d closed her eyes she’d seen Tom standing there, watching her leave him. The wind had been blowing straight off the sea for half the night, too, howling like Bertie and not letting her sleep, even when she’d buried her head under four cushions.

‘Is it Tom?’ Her mother squeezed her hand. It was quite unnerving her being like this, almost like a normal mum, and all she could do was nod. ‘Do you want to tell me what happened?’

Ashleigh wasn’t sure she could. How could she explain something she could barely rationalise? ‘He doesn’t love me.’ The words escaped all by themselves in the end and hot tears trickled from the corners of her eyes.

‘Well, then he’s not worth crying over.’ Carol, who was usually so laid back that nothing bothered her, had gone red in the face. ‘You deserve so much more than that.’

If Ashleigh hadn’t been so acutely aware of the pain in her head and her chest, she would have sworn she was dreaming. Her mum hadn’t said anything like that to her in… as long as she could remember. ‘But I love him.’ She tried to keep the emotion out of her voice, but it was like holding back the tide. ‘It hurts, Mum, so much.’ She was half-sobbing and sucking in huge gulps of air.

‘Pain is the body’s way of telling you something’s wrong. Maybe, in this case, it’s Tom that’s wrong.’ Carol moved so that she was lying next to Ashleigh, wrapping her arms around her daughter. ‘He might see sense and realise how special you are but, if he doesn’t, that will be his loss. But you deserve to be loved, you know that, don’t you?’

Ashleigh nodded and let herself relax in her mother’s arms for the first time in years, Carol’s yak-hair jumper scratching her nose. It was a weird mixture of comfort and terror… when her mother started to make sense, she was right, it was definitely time to worry.

****

Stevie and Zac had sent flowers to the funeral, separately of course. They’d wanted to pay their respects for Tom, but had stayed away from the funeral itself at his request that it shouldn’t be turned into a media circus. After the funeral, Stevie spent two days intermittingly calling Ashleigh on her home and mobile phones. She didn’t answer, couldn’t bring herself to admit what she’d done to Tom, even to Stevie. She texted, though, to say she was fine and that he absolutely wasn’t to come over, but of course he did. She’d heard the key turning in the lock, the spare key she’d given him when she first moved in. She couldn’t move to get up and greet him; she was a sodden, tear stained lump on the sofa and it was all she was good for.

‘Go back to Zac’s, Stevie. I’m fine.’ Lying on the sofa, still wearing her pyjamas at four p.m., Ashleigh wasn’t fooling anybody.

‘Yeah, you look it.’ Stevie sat on the end of the sofa and stroked her leg. ‘Come on, honey, tell me what’s up.’

Sympathy was quite the worst thing Ashleigh could have been given and she dissolved into noisy sobs, relaying the whole sorry tale. Her misery was such that one thing just melted into another and in the end she was crying about the fact that she would never do what she wanted with her career and that she might as well work in the make-over photo studio where she really belonged.

At least Ashleigh had the luxury of time to think about what it was she actually wanted to do. Zac, who had been delighted with the album shots had paid her enough money to cover her mortgage and the rest of her bills for a good six months. She told Stevie that there was no way she was accepting any work from Glitz, she couldn’t even bear to see a copy of the magazine while she was passing the newsagent’s window. That had been enough excuse to keep her holed up in the flat since the funeral. It was giving her far too much time to think and Stevie told her he wasn’t going to risk leaving her there. Throwing some of her clothes into a suitcase, he bundled her into one of Zac’s many cars and drove her back to the manor house, dismissing her protestations. Standing in the hallway of Zac’s gilded and glitzy house, she was exhausted by it all.

‘I feel like an alien in another world.’ Her shoulders dropped as she spoke. ‘Like grey, lumpy porridge trying to look at home in a bowl of exotic fruit. I don’t know why you want me here.’

‘Because we love you.’ Stevie didn’t have to say anymore, he’d brought her home and he obviously wanted her there – that was enough.

****

Zac took in Ashleigh’s pale appearance and gave her a hug; for once the Romeo act was on the back burner. Stevie had phoned him and filled him in on what had happened, when they’d stopped at the services en route. Ashleigh had pretended that she needed the loo, although all she’d really wanted was to have a cry in private.

‘I think a cup of tea and some biscuits are in order.’ Zac took her hand and led her through to the expansive kitchen. He was more down to earth than before, as if he was growing to like the mundane – making his own tea, cooking for them. It was real and Ashleigh had never seen him look happier. ‘Flick the TV on babe. There must be something terrible going on in the world somewhere that will make you feel better about all this.’

‘Good idea, let’s hope for some horrible disaster.’ Stevie grinned and Ashleigh didn’t miss the look they exchanged, which needed no words.

Zac had been right, the twenty-four hour rolling news from Sky didn’t disappoint. There was a plane crash, a flood and even a fatal shark attack to help put her troubles into perspective. There were also the lighter hearted pieces, including one about a family in Bradford who claimed they had seen the face of Christ in their Shredded Wheat, as well as some entertainment news. The newsreader smiled broadly as he announced Susie-Anne’s release from hospital after three weeks of bed rest, over footage of her cradling her stomach and clutching on to the arm of an impassive looking Tom like her life depended on it.

‘Well, that was… nice.’ Zac’s cup of tea hovered in mid-air.

‘Do you think they’re back together?’ Stevie barely whispered the words, as if saying it out loud might push Ashleigh over the edge.

‘It doesn’t really matter.’ Exhaustion washed over her again. ‘If they are, I feel sorry for her. It won’t be because he loves her. It might just be a pretence to help her career, but it doesn’t matter either way because the only thing he does love at the moment is the business.’ A frisson of worry prickled her scalp. ‘I wonder who’s looking after Bertie?’

‘Will you call, see if he’s okay and check on Tom too?’ Stevie looked over at Ashleigh. ‘I know he’s been an arse, but part of me can’t help feeling for the bloke. His mother’s just died and he still has to put up with the likes of Susie-Anne and deal with all the crap that comes with it.

‘I think it’s best left alone.’ She put down her cup and stood up, her head was full of concrete. ‘It’s all such a mess. He made his feelings clear and they’re hardly going to change, are they? I think he’s made that blatant enough, even for someone as hopeless as me.’

‘Are you sure?’ Zac put his hand over hers. He was suddenly acting like an expert in love, after years of messing everything up, as if he wanted to fix things for everyone around him too. ‘You don’t want to have any regrets.’

‘You know the worst part of it all?’ She couldn’t stop the tears, any more than she could control how she felt about Tom. ‘I know he can feel love, real love. I saw how he was with his mum, so I can’t even say it’s a problem with him. He just doesn’t love me, that’s the simple truth. Like Liam said, the problem with me is…’ She didn’t even finish the sentence. ‘I’m going to have a lie down, if that’s okay? It’s been a long couple of days.’ She sniffed and Zac nodded, letting go of her hand.

****

‘Will you stop looking at me like that? I’ve told you before there’s nothing I can do about it.’ Tom addressed Bertie and the Labrador whined again, his misery since Ashleigh had left knew no bounds.

Tom tried again to get him to eat. He’d cooked some chicken breasts specially and sliced one up carefully for the heartbroken dog. Back before Isobel had died, Tom would have risked losing a finger if he’d dangled chicken in Bertie’s face and the Labrador would have swallowed it whole, hardly tasting the food. Since Ashleigh had left, Bertie scarcely bothered with his food and, as Tom had no appetite either, the seagulls at the landfill site were doing quite well out of them.

‘What do you expect me to do?’ Bertie looked up as Tom spoke, his big round eyes a picture of sorrow. ‘She left us you know, not the other way round.’

Tom put the bowl down and Bertie had the decency to sniff the chicken before rejecting it and curling up in his basket.

‘I know you think I’ve been a complete idiot and maybe you’re right, but we’ve only got each other now, so you need to buck up.’ Tom took a bite of the chicken sandwich he’d made for himself and then pushed it aside, in much the same way Bertie had reacted to his lunch. It was like wool in his mouth. If this was how it was going to be now, maybe he should just curl up on his bed and take Bertie’s approach to the rest of his life.

‘How about a walk, boy? Maybe that will cheer us up?’ Bertie moved his head less than an inch off the base of the basket and sighed heavily, before sinking back down into the tartan blanket that lined his bed.

‘You’re right, I doubt it would work either.’

Tom took a bottle of bourbon out of the fridge and poured himself a generous slug. If losing a friend felt this bad, he was more grateful than ever that he’d never been in love.

****

Over the years, there were members of the paparazzi who had lived off Zac’s exploits. He’d been their bread and butter and provided enough stories to pay off the mortgage on at least one reasonably-sized family home. As a result, there were members of the tabloid press inclined to hang around outside the gates of Zac’s estate and to poke their telescopic lenses through any gaps in the hedgerow that provided the slightest opportunity. One such lowlife would be paying for his summer holiday on the strength of the pictures he’d taken of Zac holding Ashleigh in his arms in front of the chapel in the estate’s grounds. It served to fuel the rumours about Zac building on his budding New Year’s romance with a little known celebrity photographer, who was surely set to become fiancée number eight.

Accustomed as they were to the tabloid’s tenuous relationship with the truth, the three of them decided to ignore it. They’d got into a routine, not unlike Ashleigh and Stevie’s old student lifestyle, of staying up late, drinking and putting the world to rights, getting up just in time to catch the start of Morning Sunrise.

The usual presenters were all either on holiday or covering high profile stories for their other presenting roles. As a result, Dominic Hargreaves, former boy-band front man, turned wannabe presenter, had been given his big break, alongside, of all people, Susie-Anne. Her recent high profile, and the historical pattern of weather-girl-turned-daytime-TV-presenter made her a natural choice for a trial shot on the show – which was no doubt a dream come true for her.

‘O.M.G… Shall I turn it off?’ Stevie couldn’t have looked more horrified if they’d given the job to a serial killer.

‘Christ yes!’ Zac had his head in his hands, the shock of seeing Susie-Anne on screen apparently making his head too heavy to hold up without support. ‘Her voice is grating on me already.’

‘Hold on, don’t switch off yet!’ Ashleigh grabbed the remote and turned up the sound, making Zac wince more than ever. ‘Look, they’re talking about us!’ Susie-Anne and Dominic were chatting to the presenter of ‘The Viewer’s Voice’, and the topic of the day’s phone in was serial engagements, with Zac and Ashleigh the celebrity case study.

‘Isn’t that the girl who was going out with Tom Rushworth until recently?’ Dominic turned to Susie-Anne with a smug, you-ought-to-know, sort of smile.

‘Yes, and I’m glad she’s moved on, just as we all have.’ Susie-Anne smoothed down the material of her dress over her neat, almost non-existent bump. ‘With the baby coming we want to concentrate on the future rather than the past. I just hope that Zac really means it this time.’ Her saccharine tone might convince people that she really cared, unless you actually knew her of course. She’d conveniently forgotten that everyone who’d read a tabloid paper, or who followed her on Twitter, knew that Tom wasn’t the father.

‘Yes, you’re right, let’s hope Zac’s serious this time. Although what an average-looking wedding photographer has that a string of models don’t, I’m not sure.’ Dominic gave a wry, man-of-the-people type smile and pointed at the camera, directly to his audience at home. ‘Just saying what you’re all thinking!’

‘Okay, enough already.’ Stevie grabbed the remote back from Ashleigh and flicked off the TV.

‘I think I might go back to bed.’ Leaving the sofa without another word, Ashleigh beat a now familiar path up the stairs to the guest room. There were no tears anymore; she just curled up on her bed, staring at the ceiling wondering what the hell she could do to ever get away from all this. There was one solution, but it meant leaving her best friend, just like she’d left Tom.