Rescuing Rose. Isabel Wolff

that.’

      ‘Well I don’t know why you’re sorry, as it was you who told him to!’

      ‘What?’

      ‘A couple of weeks ago my husband wrote to you at the Daily Post and you told him to get divorced.’

      ‘I’m sorry, but I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about.’

      ‘You told him to leave me. He hid the letter, but I found it. It was you. His name’s John.’ Oh God, now I remembered – it was the adulterous husband-basher. ‘I mean, who the hell are you Rose, to tell other people how to live their lives?’

      ‘I don’t. People simply run their problems by me; I listen, and I give them advice.’

      ‘Well you give them crap advice! I mean, what the hell are you doing telling men to leave their wives you, you…marriage breaker!’ I looked at Minty, she was rolling her eyes and shaking her head.

      ‘Kathy,’ I said, feeling my heart rate rev, ‘I did not tell your husband to leave. And from what I remember of his letter I think he’d already decided what he wanted to do.’

      ‘But you helped him make up his mind. He’s a spineless sort of bloke so if you hadn’t written to him, putting it in black and white like that, then he would never have had the guts.’

      ‘I’m not at all sure that that’s true. And in any case if he’s really as “spineless” as you say, then why do you want to stay married to him?’

      ‘Because he’s my husband – that’s why! But now he’s left me because of you – you, you…baggage!’ By now my face was aflame.

      ‘Kathy, if you speak to him like you’re speaking to me I’m amazed he didn’t leave you years ago!’

      ‘You’re a wicked, wicked woman!’ she retorted.

      ‘And now on line three we have Fran,’ Minty interjected as she made slashing gestures across her throat to the producer, Wesley, on the other side of the glass. ‘Hello Fran.’

      ‘Hello Minty.’

      ‘You are a fucking marriage breaker Rose Costelloe…’ Why didn’t Wesley just get rid of her? ‘…and you’re going to be SORRY for this!’ Oh! Minty’s face registered alarm at the threat but I just rolled my eyes and shrugged.

      ‘Hello Fran,’ I said with a large sip of hospitality Frascati. ‘And what’s your problem?’

      ‘Well,’ she croaked, ‘I’ve been dumped.’

      ‘When?’

      ‘Six months ago.’

      ‘That’s quite a while.’

      ‘I know. But I just…can’t get over it.’

      ‘And how long were you with him?’

      ‘Almost two years. He left me for our optician,’ she added plaintively. ‘I never saw it coming.’ Minty was struggling not to laugh. ‘I feel so depressed,’ she sniffed. ‘Every evening I sit at home feeling bitter: I just can’t…forget.’

      ‘Fran,’ I said, ‘this is easy to say, and hard to do, but you’ve got to try and move on.’

      ‘But I can’t because it’s made me feel…worthless. I blame myself.’

      ‘Fran, why do you blame yourself?’ There was a stunned silence.

      ‘I don’t know really – I just do.’

      ‘Fran,’ I said firmly, ‘please don’t. If you must blame anyone, then in these situations it’s much more healthy to blame others. First of all blame your ex – that’s a given – then blame the other woman of course. You may also wish to blame the government, Fate, bad karma or dodgy feng shui. If all else fails, blame global warming – but please don’t blame yourself, okay?’

      ‘Okay,’ she said with a reluctant giggle.

      ‘Can I come in here?’ said Minty. ‘Fran, I had a terrible break-up three years ago. I was actually jilted – on my wedding day.’

      ‘No!’ said Fran, appalled.

      ‘Yes. But do you know, it was the best thing that ever happened to me, because I met someone so much nicer, and I just know that you will too.’

      ‘Well, I hope so,’ she sniffed. ‘I’ve been so unhappy.’

      ‘Fran,’ I said, ‘that won’t last. Heartbreak is a curable condition. And remember that your ex is only your ex because he’s wrong for you otherwise you’d still be together, right? But it’s not easy getting over someone,’ I went on, thinking of Ed with a vicious stab. ‘So you need a strategy to help you recover. Now were there things about him you didn’t like?’

      ‘Oh yeah!’ she exclaimed. ‘Loads!’

      ‘Good. Then make a list of them, and when you’ve done it, ring your friends and read it to them, then ask them if you’ve left anything out. Get them to add their own negative comments, and ask your family as well. Then ask your next-door neighbours – on both sides – plus the people in the corner shop, then post the list up in a prominent place. Secondly, get off your bum! Get down to the gym, like I did, and take up kick-boxing or Tae-Bo. Kick the shit out of your instructor, Fran – believe me it’ll lift your mood. Because it’s only when you’re feeling happy and confident again, that the right man will come along.’

      ‘Okay,’ she sighed. ‘Yes. You’re right. Do you think I should contact some of my exes?’ she added. ‘One or two of them were quite keen.’

      ‘Should you contact your exes?’ I repeated slowly. ‘No,’ I said firmly. ‘Do not.’

      ‘Oh. Why?’

      ‘Because one of the Ten Commandments of the Dumped Woman is, “Thou Shalt Not Phone Up Thy Old Boyfriends”.

      ‘Why not?’

      ‘Well, because they might have had a sex change, or they might be in jail, or bald, or dead. Worst of all, you might find they’re now happily married with two adorable kids! So no, don’t have anything to do with your old boyfriends, Fran – put all your energy into finding someone new!’

      ‘And on that positive note I’m afraid we must leave it there,’ said Minty as the hand on the studio clock juddered towards the twelve. ‘Thanks to everyone who’s called in, and do please join Rose and me again on Tuesday night for our regular phone-in – Sound Advice.’

      As I pushed wearily on the heavy studio door I saw Wesley waving at me.

      ‘I’ve got a call for you, Rose.’

      ‘As long as it’s not that mad woman,’ I whispered, making frantic circling gestures by my head. Wesley clapped his hand over the mouthpiece.

      ‘No it’s not her. It’s a bloke.’

      ‘Hello?’ I said tentatively, nervously wondering if it was Ed.

      ‘Is that Rose?’

      It wasn’t Ed.

      ‘It’s Henry here.’ Henry? Oh, Henry! My ex but three! ‘Heard your dulcet tones on the radio…brought back some very pleasant times…just come back from the Gulf…yes still in H.M.’s Armed Forces…got a desk job at the M.o.D…absolutely love to see you…how about dinner next week?’

      Well why not? I thought, as I put the phone down with a grin. True, Henry had never really lit my fire. He was the human equivalent of a lava lamp – very attractive but not that bright. But on the other hand he’s harmless, generous, extremely good-natured and after what I’ve been through I fancy a date. I mean, where’s the harm in having dinner