“Go on.” Jane looks at me expectantly.

“I’ve got some stuff here—a disk and some papers—that will make everything okay, but he needs to get it soon. Like now, in the next hour. And Vanessa can’t know about it. If she does, she’ll ruin everything. She’s totally betrayed him.”

I add this last piece of information with a flourish, knowing that it will get Jane fired up. If she didn’t like Vanessa before, now she positively hates her.

“Georgie, are you telling me that one of the partners in the firm is acting unprofessionally?

These are very serious allegations.”

“I know. But she is. She’s running off to Spain this evening. She’s a complete cow.”

For a minute I’m scared that Jane is going to tell me to stop wasting her time. That she doesn’t believe me. But then she looks up at me and opens her handbag.

“Is that the information there?” Jane looks at the envelope I’m clutching.

“Yes. Look, you’ve got to get this to David safely.”

“Of course. Now, Georgie, I recommend you go home now and have a bath. You look dreadful.”

“Do you think David will be okay?”

“If what you say is true and the information here is what you say it is, then I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

I nod silently. I need some words of reassurance. I can take David hating me, but I can’t take the possibility of his career being ruined. It would just be too unfair.

Jane picks up the envelope and puts it in her handbag. “Look, my dear, he’ll come round. They always do, just you see.”

She thinks this is still about me and David, I realize. She thinks I’m worried he won’t love me anymore. Of course I am worried about that—I could well have messed things up completely on the romantic front. But something tells me that we couldn’t have carried on as we were anyway.

There were too many secrets. Candy, Mike, David—they all knew more about what was going on than I did. Well, I don’t want to be protected anymore. I don’t want to be the naive, trusting Georgie. If David had been open with me from the start with the whole Mike business, I’d never have believed Mike’s lies. If Candy had been honest about her feelings for Mike, I’d have left them to it and saved myself a whole load of heartache. I do love David, but I’m not sure that’s enough right now.

“Just you remember what I said about a holiday,” Jane is saying. “Looks like you could do with one, too.”

She nods at me and leaves. I look at the time—it’s still early, and I’ve got an idea. I do some mental calculations, and walk quickly toward the Tube.

“You really want it all off?”

“Yes, really.”

My hairdresser, Adrian, looks at me uncertainly. “How about a bob?” he suggests, but I shake my head.

“I want a crop,” I tell him matter-of-factly. “I want to look utterly and completely different.”

At this, Adrian’s face breaks into a smile. “One of those transformation cuts, you mean? Well, in that case, I’d say we need to do a bit of color, too, don’t you think?”

I nod gratefully and let him lead me to the basin to have my hair washed. David may have liked my hair long, but I’m not doing this for David. I’m doing this for me. I want a new start.

As Adrian talks to me about the flat he’s just bought with his boyfriend and the cost of furniture, I watch my appearance change. First, he divides my hair into sections, paints them with dye, and wraps each one up in tin foil. Next, when the foils have been taken out, he cuts away at my hair with scissors, inches of hair cascading onto the floor. There’s no going back now, I think to myself, and a big grin appears on my face.

An hour and a half after I first sat down, I am staring at myself appraisingly. I have short hair, with a teeny tiny fringe that virtually disappears when I put it to one side, and beautiful golden highlights that seem to make my skin glow.

I suddenly understand what Audrey Hepburn was doing inRoman Holiday . The film wasn’t about romance or about driving around in Vespas. It was about someone growing up. She needed to cut her hair to say good-bye to the girl who took orders and did what she was told. She didn’t turn her back on her responsibilities, but she changed the way she accepted them. After her weekend in Rome she was an adult who did things on her terms.

The girl looking back at me in the mirror isn’t the same Georgie who thought having Mike fancy her again would solve everything. Who expected Mike or David to provide her with everything, from a social life to financial status. No, the Georgie I’m looking at now is the same one I saw in Gucci. Except this time the transformation wasn’t quite so expensive.

I wince slightly when I think about my credit card bill, but then think what the hell—a few less cab rides and a ban on cappuccinos, and I’ll pay it off. The point is that in spite of everything, I feel good about myself. I finally feel like I’m in charge.

Adrian brings a mirror over so I can see the back.

“You know, I thought it’d be a mistake you going short,” he says. “But you look gorgeous. Like a little urchin. Now you go and show him what he’s missing, whoever he is.”

I want to tell him that there’s no “he” to miss anything anymore, but there doesn’t seem any point really. I like my hair. And that’s enough.

I stand for a moment looking at my reflection in the mirror, then I take out my mobile phone.

There is one more thing I have to do.

“Candy? Hi, it’s Georgie. Can I come round and see you?”

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The reception to International Magazines Inc. is nearly as glamorous as David’s, but where David’s reception has lots of important-looking people in suits buzzing around and talking about the latest low-cost airline merger and the likelihood of further consolidation in the construction industry, this place is full of women with sharp haircuts discussing Marc Jacobs waiting lists and whether the Laura Ashley revival is just a flash in the pan.

But having felt so out of place in David’s offices, I now feel right at home. A woman tells me that she loves my hair and rather than do my usual “Really? You like it? I’m not sure it’s really me actually. Your hair is much nicer,” I smile graciously and accept the compliment.

I am thankful, however, that I had the insight to change my clothes before I came—this morning I resorted to borrowing clothes from my mother’s wardrobe and they didn’t fit me at all, but after my haircut I nipped into Top Shop and bought a simple black linen shift dress and a pair of ballerina pumps. My legs may not be particularly tanned, but still, I’m sure the pale and interesting look is in right now. I glance at myself in the mirrored walls of International Magazines’ reception and think to myself thatInStyle was right, you can make cheap clothes look expensive if you know what you’re looking for. I actually look quite sophisticated.

The doors of the lift open, and Candy emerges. She is still amazingly thin, considering she’s pregnant. She’s dressed all in black and her blond hair is tied back neatly in a ponytail. She looks at me and then does a double take.

“George! God, you look amazing. What happened to you?”

I give a halfhearted smile. “Oh, you know. Shall we . . . can we go and get a coffee or something?”

“Great!” I can see her taking surreptitious looks at me as we walk down the street. And she hasn’t made one comment about how I need accessories, or a different pair of shoes.

There is a small cafe on the corner and when we sit down I notice that “Stand by Your Man” is playing on the radio. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.

Candy looks tired. She tells me about her hectic schedule and a nightmare fashion shoot she’s trying to set up, but while her voice is bright and breezy, I can see real tension in her face. I think this is the first time I’ve ever seen Candy look stressed.

Maybe it’s the pregnancy, I think.

“So . . . ?” she says expectantly when we make it to a free table with our frothy cappuccinos.

She looks at me, and then at the clock on the wall. I’m guessing I haven’t got much of her time.

“It’s about Mike,” I begin.

“Ah. Yes.” Candy looks thoughtful. “Don’t tell me. He’s leaving me for you. You’ve finally got your revenge. I suppose that’s your victory haircut. Am I right?” Her face is smiling but her eyes are thunderous.

“No!” I exclaim. “Candy, Mike has lied to both of us. I didn’t want you to find out from anyone else: he is going to Malaga, you were right. Only, I’m not sure he’s coming back. He’s got David into a whole load of trouble and he’s buggering off tonight. I just . . . I thought you should know.”

Candy stares at me and doesn’t say anything. Somehow this isn’t going as expected. There is none of the bonding, none of the hugs and tears that this sort of revelation usually brings about in films. Candy is sitting quite still, tight-lipped, and is now gazing into the distance.

“I was the one who told you about the tickets to Malaga,” Candy says sharply. “I don’t see why you had to drag me out of a meeting to tell me something I knew already.”

“I . . . I didn’t know if you knew that . . . he isn’t coming back.”

I look at Candy worriedly. Is she going to have one of those delayed reactions and get incredibly emotional in a minute or two? But her eyes don’t convey any emotion at all.

“Right,” she says crisply, standing up to go. “Is that everything?”

I can’t work out what’s going on. Didn’t I explain myself properly? Doesn’t Candy realize what I’m saying?

“Candy, look, I know this is bad news, and I’m sorry to be the one telling you, but how can you be so calm? Aren’t you worried about the baby and stuff? Don’t you care what an utter shithead Mike has been? What he’s done to David?”

I’m so angry I feel myself wanting to take out my frustrations on Candy, to make her react, to make her cry. Not exactly mature, I know, but it’s been a tough day.

Candy stares at me long and hard and then looks down.

“There is no baby,” she says flatly.

No baby?

“Since when? Candy, what happened?”

“What happened,” she says slowly, “is that I wasn’t pregnant after all. Wasn’t ever pregnant, actually. I thought I was—I missed two periods and felt really bloated. And when I found out that I wasn’t, I couldn’t bear it. I thought that if I could just keep everyone thinking I was pregnant, then everything would be fine. Mike would marry me . . .”

A small tear is wending its way down Candy’s cheek. I try not to feel pleased that she’s finally upset.

“It looks like even a real baby wouldn’t have done the trick anyway,” she says.

“You’re well shot of him,” I say quietly.

Candy nods. “And you’re welcome to him.”

Me? She still thinks that I’m going to Spain with him?

“Candy, he’s not going to Malaga with me. This is not about me and Mike. There’s someone else.”

Candy looks up sharply.

“Someone else? That’s impossible. Who?”

“I don’t know. Some bitch that David works with. She’s stitched up David and now she’s running away with Mike.”

Candy looks me up and down as if she’s trying to work out whether to believe me or not.

Evidently she does, because after a few seconds she looks down and smiles.

“I shouldn’t think he’ll get very far.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” she says, looking me straight in the eye, “that I rang the airline this afternoon and canceled the ticket. The eight-thirty flight to Malaga will be leaving without him. And without this . . .” Candy reaches into her bag and brings out Mike’s passport. “Without this, I don’t think he’s really going anywhere. Do you?”

Her smile breaks into a real grin. Tears are still rolling down her cheeks, but she has a glint in her eye. “I’ve been pretty stupid, haven’t I?”

“You and me both,” I agree.

“I can’t believe I fell for him,” Candy sniffs. “After all those evenings telling you he wasn’t worth it.”

“I thought you had just told me that so you could have him to yourself,” I say, half joking and half accusingly.

“No! Oh my God, Georgie, I would never do that! I mean, I did fancy the pants off him, but I really didn’t mean to be so two-faced. I only let him move in with me because he said if he could just move in with me for a little bit he’d get himself together . . . he said that you two needed a clean break, you know, so that you could get over him properly. . . .

We both start laughing. It sounds so ridiculous now.

“So he didn’t leave me for you?”

“I resisted him for at least two weeks,” Candy smirks. “And then, when I finally gave in, I was so guilt-ridden I couldn’t call you or see you or anything. I only called you the other week because Mike said he’d seen you and I wanted to make sure there wasn’t anything else to it.