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Malcolm bustled away into his back room. A few minutes later he was back with his usual remedy: hot and strong. I raised my head weakly from the counter as he put the mug beside me.

‘Two sugars?’ I whimpered.

‘Three. One for the nerves.’ He patted my back. ‘Now listen, flower. I know you're in a bad way, but would you do me a humongous favour?’ He clasped his hands, knees bent as he lowered himself down to my line of vision.

‘Anything,’ I murmured bleakly as I picked up the spoon and stirred my beverage miserably.

‘I'm supposed to be taking Cinders to a doggy training class in five minutes, and your ma is supposed to be relieving me here, only she's a bit late. You wouldn't hold the fort for moi, would you? Till she comes? Would you, would you?’ He fluttered his lashes at me.

‘Mum? Oh. Oh, yes, she said.’ I shrugged resignedly. ‘Sure. Why not?’ I rested my head on his counter again. ‘I have no life. Nowhere to go. I am a zero.’ I gazed down at my thighs. ‘If only I were a size zero too, like Bella Edgeworth. Go.’ I waved him away. ‘Just go. Be gone. Don't crawl.’

‘Thanks, hon.’ He straightened up. ‘We're running over The Three Commandments again today. D'you want to hear them?’

‘Three what?’

‘Commandments. At doggy training, I told you, with Cinders. Shall I tell you what they are?’

I raised my head wearily. ‘Why do I know you're going to tell me anyway?’

‘First you say – “Sit!” Then you pat your dog and say, “Good sit.” Then you say, “Down! Good down.” Then, my favourite,’ his face twitched with suppressed mirth, ‘“Come! Good come.”’ He giggled. ‘Isn't that killing?’

‘Killing,’ I muttered. Annoyingly, though, I could feel my mouth twitch.

‘I just dissolve. No one else does, though. Dalmatian's owner looked very snooty, but I did catch American Cocker's eye last week. He gave me a very knowing smile, which I thought was encouraging, n'est-ce pas?’

I shrugged. ‘Peut-être.’ I sipped my tea weakly, wondering if I should read her biography on the back. Might it go something like:

Bella Edgeworth was a student at Oxford. She has written four novels and lives with her daughter in Sheffield. Although single, she has a long-term boyfriend with whom she is deeply in love, and plans to marry in the spring.

Yes. Maybe. My eyes roved towards the books.

‘And don't torture yourself with those books, hm? As I said, a little bit of Vaseline goes a long way. I should know.’ He gave me an arch look and went to pick them up, but I slapped my hand down on the pile.

‘Leave them,’ I said savagely. ‘Torture is what I want right now. When in pain, only more pain will do. Don't take my hair shirt away from me.’ I raised anguished, possibly over-melodramatic eyes.

He shrugged. ‘Whatever,’ he said peevishly. ‘But don't slit your wrists in my shop, hon. It wouldn't be good for business.’

And with that, he was away, slipping into his crushed linen jacket, whistling for Cinders, who was instantly at his heels, whisking out of the door and down the street. I sank back in my chair and watched them go. Cinders, it occurred to me vaguely, was not only pushing twelve, but also the most obedient dog in Christendom. Puppy-training classes? Old dog, new tricks? I smelled a rat. Suspected the tricks were all Malcolm's.

I slumped right back in his chair, head lolling, eyes shut. After a moment, I reached out a hand and drew one of the books towards me, the one Malcolm hadn't wanted me to see. I opened the back cover gingerly, peered at the photo again. A second view confirmed my fears. Worse. Much worse. Older than in the previous picture, but more sophisticated. More elegant. Less pout, more poise. Less bosom, more bon point. Eyes wild, I read the biography.

Bella Edgeworth was born and brought up in the north of England. She was a student at Oxford University, and now lives near Sheffield with her daughter. She won the Herald Book of the Year for historical romance in 2006.

I read on feverishly:

Critical Acclaim for Bella Edgeworth

‘Brilliant! Witty and compelling’ Scotsman