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Cecily Miller was having a bad day. Her heel had broken just outside Harvey Nicks and caused her to stumble, tearing her stockings and upending her new Prada bag all over the pavement. Lunch had been a disaster, nothing tasted right and now she was on her knees, white-faced, clutching the sides of the loo.

Marco stretched out on the bed and luxuriated in thoughts of his former fiancé. He wondered where she was, what she was doing, whether she missed him. He dwelled on the mental image of her curvaceous, compact form, her kind, pretty face and felt himself stir. It crossed his mind whether this meant that actually he missed her, that perhaps he’d been a little…hasty?

He tuned back into the present, becoming aware of his surroundings in that slightly tired basement flat. Then he heard the retching noises from the ensuite bathroom, followed by the sharp demand:
“Marco! For chrissakes come here and hold my hair back! I’ve got another 2 months of this!”

As he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and got to his feet, he realised with ice-cold clarity that he’d quite willingly – without so much as a backward glance – walked straight down a blind alley.

this story is adapted from a scene in a novel I wrote ten years back and never quite got round to completing. It occurred to me that with its themes and action sequence it would probably work OK by itself. Let me me know what you think!