Jenny lived in a flashy-looking new-build apartment block in one of the nicer parts of north Islington which, with its bright lights and reliance on tinted glass, looked more like the head office of some trendy management consultants than the kind of place anyone in their right mind would want to live. It also looked extremely pricey, and I remember thinking that I ought to become a web-based travel agent if it paid that much, but knowing at the same time that it didn't.

As the taxi pulled up outside, she reached into her handbag to pay the driver but, chivalrous to the last, I gave him my last ten-pound note, which, with London cab prices being what they are, only just managed to cover it.

'There's something I ought to tell you,' she said when we were standing on the pavement.

The last time I'd heard that line it was followed by my ex-wife dropping the bombshell that she'd fallen in love with a man called Nigel. Trying not to let that bother me, I adopted the most neutral expression I could manage and asked Jenny what it was.

She put a hand on my arm, and fixed me with those big brown eyes. I noticed she was a little unsteady on her feet. 'You know me and Dom broke up a while back?'

'Uh-huh,' I said, conscious that I was wobbling too.

'He's been trying to get back with me recently. Phoning up. Calling round. Things like that.'

I had a sinking feeling. I'd thought the two of them were history. Dom hadn't been mentioned all evening, and now, hearing his name spoken out loud, I experienced a sudden rush of guilt.