“Oh, God, not another Nicola X,” I said, then saw Paul’s confusion. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to say that out loud. But it’s the oldest trick in the book: how to keep a man – pretend you’re pregnant.”

Paul shook his head. “I challenged her, and she took a test, there and then. I saw the blue line appear in the window.”

“Oh.” My heart flip-flopped again and then sank. I steeled myself to ask, “Could it be yours?”

“Well, that’s where things get complicated. For the past month, we’ve been busy moving and setting up the café, and we haven’t…there’s been no….”

“I get the picture.”

“Until last Tuesday night. We went out for a walk and argued over Steph not pulling her weight and moaning about leaving London. Then, she suddenly apologised and was all over me like a rash. We got back to Sea Brew, and she practically jumped me. And then we…er….”

“I get the picture. In fact, I saw you.” Paul looked startled, so I carried on quickly, “I was across the street with Elvis.” I thought back to when I was trying to get pregnant with Jeff. “I’m not a biologist, but a week’s a bit quick to show a positive test.” I looked at Paul and decided not to hold back. “I think the baby’s Mark Cooper’s, but she hasn’t told him yet, so she’s hedging her bets and buying time by pretending it’s yours.”

“That was my first reaction, but this thing with Cooper…it must have been a whirlwind.”

“I hate to be the bearer of more bad tidings,” I said. “But, when you had your business in Croydon, did you advertise in the local free paper?”

“Yeah, we did. The paper gave us a great deal, and we got a few good articles.”

“Did the reporter come to the takeaway?”

“No. Steph dealt with all the publicity, and she went to their place and took the photos we wanted to print. Why?”

“A year and a half ago, Mark Cooper worked at a free paper in Croydon.” I watched realisation dawn in Paul’s eyes, followed by anger. “And now he’s talking about moving back to London.”

“Steph said she wants to go back there, to be near her mother and sister, now she’s pregnant.” Paul’s voice cracked. “She’s played me.”

“What happened yesterday?”

“I left before she woke up, took the car and got the hell out of Dexter Bay. I had my mobile, but the battery went flat, so I couldn’t call you. I kept driving, stopped for something to eat, then sat in the car for hours, thinking about everything.”

“Did you come to any conclusion?”

Paul shook his head. “It’s a mess, and I can’t abandon a pregnant woman, no matter the circumstances.”

The hollowed-out feeling returned. I felt as though I was on a big dipper running out of control, and one more sudden plunge would tip me out of the cart. My inner voice struggled to be heard above the whirl of negativity in my head, but eventually, it came through.

You can do this, Marnie Hope. Be strong. You deserve the best; don’t settle for less. And you’ll need tin foil for that hedgehog.

“Elvis is having a birthday party tomorrow night at seven. B.Y.O.B.”

“Bring Your Own Bonio.” Paul nodded. “Got it.”

Why did it have to be so easy with him? By rights, Paul should be on a different wavelength, with no sense of humour and industrial-strength B.O. Instead, he was standing there in a haze of Sandalwood, looking at me with sexy brown eyes, making me laugh and stirring up emotional turmoil.

This wouldn’t do.

I straightened, pulled my sunglasses back down over my eyes and manoeuvred my trolley around Paul’s. “If you’ve decided you’re single, you can come to Elvis’s party. That’s the deal. Take it or leave it.”

Then I stalked off and sashayed down the aisle towards the tills, feeling like the heroine in a smart American sitcom; the kind with impossibly beautiful people and super-hip clothes. I’d just slayed the male lead and left him gasping. I was fabulous – the top banana. No one could touch me.

Ginger nuts.

Dammit.

I stopped, swivelled around, and crashed my trolley into Paul’s. “Are you stalking me?”

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“I thought you were making a dramatic exit.”

“I was. Now I’m making a dramatic re-entry.”

“You forgot something, didn’t you?”

“No. Yes. Ginger nuts.” I remembered the hedgehog. “Tin foil.”

His laughter followed me to the biscuit aisle. I grabbed two packets of Colin’s favourite, slung them in my trolley, added a huge roll of silver foil, and headed for the self-service tills, where I scanned everything double-quick and then galloped out to the car park. I spotted the green Fiat further along the same row I’d parked in, loaded my shopping in the Golf, shuttled my trolley to a bay and dived into my car.

I passed Paul as I drove out of the car park. He waved, and I found myself waving back and smiling. My inner voice told me I sucked at being cool, calm and collected, and I said I knew that already.

Five minutes later, I parked on Lufton High Street, hit the pet shop, and bought a plush duck that quacked when you squeezed it, a rubber pig that oinked, and then, as if they weren’t annoying enough, I found a plastic chop that made a high-pitched squealing noise. Several packets of fancy treats completed my purchase.

Then I headed to the stationers and chose a birthday card with a cartoon dog and a number three on the front, plus a roll of wrapping paper sporting bones and paw prints. I refused to think of Paul Felix, Steph and Mark Cooper, or any drama the previous fortnight had thrown my way. Instead, I planned my doggy version of Abigail’s Party as I drove back to Dexter Bay.

Elvis greeted me with enthusiasm and tried to shove his head inside every shopping bag, so I pretended there was someone at the back door, and he dashed out to investigate. “Sorry, boy.”

During Elvis’s absence, I wrapped his presents, wrote his birthday card with love from Mum, and stashed everything in my wardrobe. When I came back downstairs, the doorbell rang, and Sue, Emma and Bertie were standing on the porch. “Hey, guys,” I said. “Come in.”

“You’re looking miles better,” Emma said.

“Yeah, and sorry about this morning’s meltdown.” I led the way to the kitchen, where Elvis could be heard removing the top layer of paint from the back door. “I’m over it now.”

“No need to apologise,” Emma said as they sat down at the table. “We’ve all been there.”

“Yeah,” Sue agreed. “I once sobbed all over the lettuce in a grocer’s in Wolverhampton - no idea why.” She stared into space for a few moments. “The shopkeeper was furious, and he made me buy the lettuce. We were eating salad for days….”

I opened the back door, and Elvis rushed in, met Bertie, and they raced out again. I closed the door. “Coffee? Or have you just been to Sea Brew?” I turned away and began unpacking groceries, handing Sue the ginger nuts and hoping she didn’t study my face.

“Thanks for these.” Sue put the biscuits in her bag. “We tried the shops, but there was no gossip about Steph or Mark Cooper. Then we went into the cafe, but the place was packed, so we didn’t stay. There was no sign of Paul.”

“There wouldn’t be.” I filled the coffee pot and decided on the truth - with a few omissions. “I was buying wine when he appeared beside me.” I could feel Sue’s eyes boring into my back as I set the pot on the cooker and adjusted the heat. “I gave him what for over the whole Steph thing, and he told me what happened after I sent him the video.”

“Do tell,” Emma said as I sat down beside Sue and moved Tim’s flowers aside. I kept my eyes on the table and recounted my ‘accidental’ meeting with the chef.

Sue and Emma reacted in all the right places: anger at Windy Miller’s interference, indignation at Steph’s audacity, and sympathy with Paul’s predicament. I wound up with my statement of intent. “I told him Elvis is having a party, but he can only come if he decides he’s single. I doubt he’ll do it, though.” I shrugged. “I don’t care. Elvis is three tomorrow, and he will have a lovely day. I bought him toys and treats…and wrapped them up.”

“Of course you did,” Sue laughed.

“I’ll confess to wrapping Bertie’s Christmas presents,” Emma said. “Are you going to wait until the party to give them to Elvis?”

“Not sure. I think I’ll let Elvis open one in the morning and keep the rest for later.” I glanced at Sue. “Elvis is my Gorgeous Boy, and he deserves the best.”

“I know.” Sue patted my arm. “I know.”

Emma rose and looked out of the kitchen window.

“Your Gorgeous Boy is digging up flowers while Bertie’s standing beside him getting showered in the dirt.”

“Oh, hell.”

Emma and I hurried outside to repair the damage while Sue stood in the doorway and laughed. Then Mr Simpkins came out of his house and marched to the dividing wall.

“Elvis doing a bit of gardening, is he?”

“Ah, ha, ha, er, yes, sort of.” I stuffed plants back into the ravaged flower bed while Emma tried to round up my dog and his accomplice. “Showing off to his friend, Bertie.”

“He’ll grow out of it, I daresay,” Mr Simpkins said uncertainly. “What age is he?”

“Two. Well, three tomorrow, actually.” I examined a clump of greenery, unsure if it was a weed or not. “I hope he doesn’t get over-excited at his party.”

“You’re having a party for Elvis?” Mr Simpkins raised his eyebrows. “And that’s a Begonia, by the way.”

“Oh, er, thanks.” I replaced the traumatised plant and then straightened and faced my neighbour. A sense of obligation made me add, “You’re very welcome to come tomorrow,” fully expecting him to cry off with an impromptu excuse. “Seven o’clock.”

To my horror, Mr Simpkins replied, “Thank you, Mrs Hope, I’d be delighted. D’you mind if I bring Mrs Darrow?”

“No, no, of course not, the more the merrier,” I burbled, forcing my lips into a smile and suspecting I now resembled the Joker with toothache. “We’ll see you at seven, then.”

“Seven it is.” Mr Simpkins’ hand jerked towards his head to salute before he reddened, coughed, and scratched his ear instead. He turned and went back indoors while I stumbled into the kitchen and relayed the news of our additional party guests.

Sue laughed so hard I thought she might pass out.

“It’ll be a laugh,” Emma said. “I’ll bring party hats.”

“I’m going retro with a cocktail hedgehog,” I said.

“This is just what you need.” Sue clapped me on the back. “Wine, nibbles, and Widow Twankey on the side-lines, drunk on sherry, snogging the face off The Major.”

“Oh, my God.” I covered my face with my hands. “I can’t unsee that image.”

Sue laughed again, I made more coffee, and the rest of the afternoon passed in a haze of caffeine, laughter and most of Colin’s ginger nuts. When I waved Sue, Emma and Bertie off, I was in a much happier place.

Paul Felix could stay in my life or sod off out of it.

I was okay with either option.