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baby wabbits,’ he says, and pauses as we clink glasses. ‘God, it probably is made from wabbits. Gross.’

      ‘What happened that time you saw her in the airport?’ I say, hoping he’s feeling more open than usual.

      ‘What? . . . oh. That time. Well, I said “hi Antonia, how are you?”. Then she told me what a total bastard I was, how miserable she’d been over me, how if I didn’t care I shouldn’t have flown out to Milan to see her when she was upset about her dog dying—’

      ‘You did?’

      ‘She was upset!’ he says, grinning. ‘I didn’t think that was that romantic.’

      ‘Well, it is. The knight in shining armour act is an obvious aphrodisiac.’

      ‘I did hope I might get some sex,’ he admits. ‘You’re such a gent. So then what happened?’

      ‘And so then I said, I am sorry, it was unfair of me to expect you to be fine with it. And I shouldn’t have dumped you by text—’ I gasp in horror ‘—I’m sorry for not answering your phone calls and for refusing to talk about it. I was wrong.’

      ‘God, Robert, I can’t believe I ever took dating advice from you. You’re such a prick.’

      ‘I apologised to her! And she forgave me. And it wasn’t dating advice. It was singledom advice. Huge difference.’

      I glare at him. ‘Don’t change the subject.’

      ‘I said I was sorry. Your lectures made me see the error of my ways . . . or rather, the error of how I deal with the aftermath of my ways.’ He smiles angelically.

      ‘A lifetime of bad habits can’t be changed overnight. I feel like I should slap you on behalf of the sisterhood.’

      ‘Go for it.’

      I raise my hand and slap him firmly across the cheek – not enough to hurt – and he pretends to start crying. I start giggling, I can’t help it. ‘Such a reprobate, and yet I adore you,’ I say, laughing despite myself. ‘You do?’ he says, brightening. ‘But I sure as hell wouldn’t want any woman I know going near you with a 10-foot pole.’

      Robert’s face falls for a second. Then he smirks. ‘How did you know my pole is 10 feet? Right. Me to the bar.’

      ‘Another cleansing vodka for me, please.’

      Hmm definitely a bit tipsy, applying lip gloss is tough. I’m almost drunk enough to call Dave. I try to weigh up the joy of hearing his voice versus the joy of winning today’s phone call powerplay. Perhaps I’ll just—

      ‘Are you OK?’ I look up. It’s Leather Jacket man. ‘I’m fine.’ I look back at my drink. I want him to go away. ‘I saw you slap your boyfriend,’ says Leather Jacket.

      I start laughing. ‘That was a joke! He’s not my boyfriend.’

      ‘You shouldn’t spend your New Year’s Eve with someone like that. Come and sit with us.’

      ‘No, thank you,’ I say, smiling as coldly as I can, considering I’m in a really good mood. ‘I’m fine, honestly.’

      ‘I think you’d enjoy it. Why don’t you give me your number, we can go out sometime. I promise not to give you any reason to slap me.’

      He’s being too pushy, and he’s slurring slightly. I look up at him. ‘I’m sorry, I’m seeing someone.’

      ‘Yeah, someone you just slapped.’

      ‘Everything alright here?’ says Robert, coming back with our drinks.

      ‘Fine,’ I say. ‘You watch yourself, man,’ says Leather Jacket to Robert, poking him in the chest with an outstretched finger. ‘She’s too good for you.’

      ‘I know that,’ says Robert amiably, sitting down. Leather Jacket throws me a baleful glance as he walks away.

      ‘He’s a fucknuckle too. Like most men.’

      ‘Except Dave, presumably,’ says Robert. I check my phone for the fifth time since we got here. Nope, nothing. ‘Do you have any New Year resolutions?’ says Robert. ‘I don’t believe in them.’

      ‘They’re not imaginary,’ he replies. ‘For example, I resolve to not be a bastard to women.’

      ‘How noble,’ I say. ‘I resolve to not have someone be a bastard to me.’

      Robert pauses and seems on the verge of saying something. ‘Dave—’

      My phone buzzes. Dave! ‘He just texted me!’ I say delightedly, interrupting him. ‘He says . . . “With Luke and Sophie now. On the way to London. With you by next year.” . . . I wonder why he’s with them? And why they left so late?’

      ‘Dave stayed at Luke’s last night. They had car trouble today, apparently.’

      ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ I say, ignoring the sudden stab of nervy jealousy. Luke’s house? Was Bella there, too?

      ‘You didn’t ask,’ he replies, taking another sip of his drink. Why couldn’t Dave just text me that there was car trouble? Does he not care that I’ve been waiting all day to hear whether I’d see him tonight? Isn’t that kind of inconfuckingsiderate? I sigh. At least he’ll still be here by midnight.

      ‘Scuse me,’ slurs a voice, and I look up. It’s Leather Jacket man. ‘I would like you to come and sit with us.’ I look up and over at his table, where his two friends are sitting. The table is littered with shot glasses.

      ‘No, thank you,’ I say. ‘I think you should stay away from this guy.’ The words at the end all run into each other. Awayfrmthsguy.

      I sit back and look at Robert. He raises his eyebrows. I shake my head to tell him not to get involved. ‘Please go away,’ I say coldly.

      Leather Jacket takes a step back and forward in that drunken staggering-on-the-spot way. ‘Bitch.’

      A split second later, Robert has stood up and grabbed Leather Jacket guy by the lapels. ‘Hey. Fucknuckle. She said no. So fuck off.’

      Leather Jacket tries to push Robert away, but Robert’s taller and stronger than him and won’t let go. I’m not sure what Robert intends to do with him now that he’s got hold of him, and Robert doesn’t seem sure either. For a second I have the urge to giggle. He said fucknuckle!

      Then it all becomes a bit messy. As Robert and Leather Jacket are shoving each other, Leather Jacket’s two friends finally notice what’s going on and hurry over, one shouting ‘Jesus Christ, Damien, not again!’ One friend stops next to me, while the other starts hitting Robert in the arm and gets a couple of good swings in before a bartender finally restrains him. A second bartender grabs Leather Jacket, who wrestles himself away and tries to get Robert in a headlock, resulting in a protracted, imprecise and slightly pathetic scuffly-dance between the three of them for several seconds. I take a second to gaze around the pub, shocked that no one else is trying to stop them, but everyone is silent and entranced. How ridiculous fighting looks. Seriously.

      Shaking off the bartender one last time, Leather Jacket punches Robert, rather untidily, in the neck. Robert retorts by punching him, very precisely, in the face. Blood immediately explodes from Leather Jacket’s nose.

      Two seconds later, Robert faints and crashes to the floor. Gasping, I hurry over and crouch down next to him, looking up quickly to see Leather Jacket and his mates being dragged outside by the bartenders. Someone passes me a bottle of water, and I kneel next to Robert’s head and try to pull him up. He looks like a black and white photograph of himself. My heart feels like it’s stopped beating, all I can think about is Robert.

      ‘Robert, oh please be alright, Robert . . .’ I whisper, stroking his forehead. God, he’s got lovely hair and such smooth, warm skin.

      The rest of the

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