I began to sweat. These clapboard Californian houses were so flimsy and I felt the vulnerability of being on the ground floor very keenly.

Slick with fear, I had to turn on the lamp and look on Emily’s bookcase for something to read. Preferably something light, to take my mind off my imminent dismemberment. But because I was in her office, all I could find were textbooks on the art of scriptwriting. Then I saw the bundle of pages on the desk. Plastic Money, her new screenplay. That’d do.

Two pages in, I was gripped, the roaming madman forgotten. The story was about two women who pull off a jewellery heist to pay for plastic surgery for their daughters, so that they’ll have better luck with men than they did. It was a comedy, a thriller, a love story and, most importantly for Hollywood, it had the requisite schmaltzy bit. (‘But I love you, Mom. You don’t have to buy me new boobs.’)

Just before I fell back to sleep, I thought fuzzily, I’d option it…

When I woke up again, I got the fright of my life – the sun was shining, pouring lemon light into the room. With a pounding heart I wondered, Where the hell am I? The last nine months galloped towards me, gathering up awful memories and whooshing them at me, until I remembered why I was in this strange sunny place. Oh yeah…

Emily was in the kitchen, clicking away at her laptop.

‘Morning,’ I said. ‘Are you working?’

‘Yes, on a new script.’

‘A new new one?’

‘Yeah.’ She laughed, then got up and began making herself what I would later come to know as a protein shake. ‘I don’t know if it’s any good, but I’ve got to keep pressing on with it just in case Plastic Money doesn’t work out.’

What a nightmare, I thought. To cheer us both up, I said, ‘Isn’t it a gorgeous day?’

‘Yes, I suppose.’ She sounded surprised. ‘But they’re all like this. So did you hear the fireworks last night?’

‘Fireworks?’

‘Yeah, for the Santa Monica festival. But you were probably out for the count.’

‘No, I heard them.’ Then in a mortified rush I blurted, ‘But I thought they were machine guns.’

‘Why would you think they were machine guns? Christ in the marketplace!’ Her face was stamped with distress and concern. ‘You are in a bad way’

She was behind the table and wrapping her wiry little Emily body around mine, and I was so touched by the contact that for the first time since I’d left him, I was able to cry. All my tears had been packed tight inside me, frozen and out of reach until now.

‘I’m so sad,’ I choked. ‘I’m so sad. I’m just so sa-aa-aaad.’

‘I know, I know, I know.’ On a loop.

The grief that, until then, I’d only caught out-of-the-corner-of-my-eye glimpses of suddenly revealed itself to me, and I felt the full weight of all our blunted hopes. The end of a marriage is the saddest thing in the whole world. Surely no one gets married thinking that theirs mightn’t make it? I had an image of a twenty-four-year-old me and a twenty-five-year-old Garv and our innocent trust in the future, and it was killing me.

‘All the hope we had and it did us no good.’ I pressed a lump of kitchen paper to my leaking face. ‘I had to go, Emily, I didn’t have any choice, it was so awful. He would have left if I hadn’t. But now it’s all go-onnnne.’

‘I know, I know, I know,’ Emily murmured. ‘I know.’

‘I thought I could never again feel as sad as I did last February,’ I coughed with tears. ‘But I doo-hoo. It’s sadder than the hungry babies in Angela’s Ashes!’

‘Sadder than Mary going blind in Little House on the Prairie?’

‘Yeah. Sadder.’

But the damage was done. She’d made me smile. After she’d mopped me up a bit and got me to blow my nose, she tempted, ‘Will you have a protein shake? It’s a local delicacy.’

‘Go on then.’

Emily whipped me up a (frankly, delicious) shake and we sat outside in the tiny, sun-drenched back garden, and I was feeling a little bit calmer until she decided to have another go at making sense of me and Garv.

‘The thing is, it all feels a bit premature. Too sudden.’

I sat in silence while my arm got hotter and itchier.

‘Nothing ends this cleanly,’ she insisted.

‘It’s not clean.’

She tried to jolly me into engaging. ‘You’ve missed out vital parts of the breaking-up process. What normally happens is you go for counselling, you have to have at least two attempts at a reunion. They’ve got to fail really horribly, and if you think you’re bitter now, it’s nothing compared to how you’ll be then. Then it’s allowed to be over.’

‘It couldn’t be more over now because he’s… with….’ – I couldn’t bring myself to say ‘sleeping with’ – ‘someone else. I could never trust him again. Or forgive him.’

‘I understand,’ she started. ‘But it’s because of the –’

‘Please, Emily!’ I started out sounding snappy but quickly moved to desperation. ‘It’s over and I need you to believe me because I can’t keep going through this.’

‘OK. Sorry.’ She seemed glad to stop. She looked exhausted. ‘So what would you like to do today?’

‘Dunno.’

‘I’ve to see my accountant about my IRS returns this morning,’ she said. ‘You’re welcome to come with me, or I could drop you to the beach.’

I didn’t want to be on my own. But how stupid would it be to sit in an accountant’s office while Emily went through her tax returns? The sun was splitting the stones and I was a big girl now.

‘I’ll go to the beach,’ I swallowed.

‘How are you fixed for money?’ Emily asked. ‘Not that I’m looking for any,’ she added quickly.

‘Well, Garv said he’d cover the mortgage for a month and I’ve my credit card. No way of paying it off, though, until I get a new job.’ For some reason this worry wasn’t as potent as it usually was. ‘And I’ve a bit in my current account.’

In fact, my Ladies’ Nice Things account was quite healthy. Though I’d been spending too much lately, I’d been doing it from our joint account and it struck me that maybe I’d been stockpiling money in my own account, somehow anticipating the split with Garv. It wasn’t a comfortable thought.