Her sleek black bob, her upturned nose, her sneering shocking red lips, she intimidated the hell out of Anna. Achingly stylish in her little black dress and chic scarf, she suddenly felt like a silly, awkward child with snot on her cuffs. And then she spoke in that way people do from down south and her Yorkshire tongue shrivelled and died. She just saw mascara and flawless skin and felt like handing him back to her decorated in a large red bow. I’m not worthy, she decided, next to this stocking clad vixen ex. Here, take him. He’s yours.