As David Hedges walked through the door, my heart flipped. It was his sixth visit in as many weeks. Something about him made me forget I was 46 with two grown-up children. When he was there, I felt like a teenager.
‘Don’t be daft,’ I told myself. ‘He’s not here to see you, he’s here to buy some other lucky woman flowers.’
My ex-husband only bought me flowers once – six pale and drooping chrysanths, grabbed from
