“I have to warn you – I talk complete bollocks most of the time. Especially at events like this. My wife will try to disown me later.”

His wife, Shiva, leans across him. “He’s right. I will. Just give me the word, Trish, when he gets too much. I’ll send him home in a taxi.”

I like them already. They appear so mismatched physically – he’s pasty white, tall and balding in a crumpled suit, and Shiva’s a tiny Indian woman in a bright orange sari. But I can see how connected they are in the way they respond to each other physically. It’s like some invisible tie has joined them. Shit. There I go again. I might as well be discussing their aura.

Scott keeps an eye on me throughout the meal and makes sure I’m not left out of the conversation. Once or twice, he leans in and asks if I’m going OK. I assure him I’m enjoying myself, and I am. The only slight disarming part is I keep having to remind myself we’re not an actual couple. Every time Scott brushes against me or leans close, I experience a jolt of excitement. I want him to sit beside me all night long. I like that we’re here together. I like it way too much.

Once the meal is over, we’re encouraged to head onto the dance floor. I’m extremely relieved when Mike from Australia sitting opposite announces there’s no way in hell he’s dancing and suggests we all stage a sit-in.

By this point, most guests at our table are well oiled, so they cheer loudly and pour themselves another drink. I’ve been keeping an eye on how many drinks Scott has consumed and he’s been very cautious. After his initial beer, he’s only had one glass of wine.

“You’re welcome to get completely sloshed,” I say as I notice him eyeing up the wine bottle sitting beside the flowers.

“Thanks, Trish, but you’re doing me a big favour being here and me getting shit-faced is hardly a great way to repay you.”

“Scott, believe me when I say this. If I was in your situation right now, I’d be well and truly inebriated. Please don’t be sensible on my behalf.”

“You sure?”

“Absolutely.”

Scott reaches for the bottle. “I’ll have one more glass, then.”

Just four glasses later, Scott is dragging me to my feet. “One dance, Trish, come on.”

The dance floor is no longer heaving. Half the guests have already gone home and I’d quite like to do the same. Last time I checked my watch, it was nearly 1 a.m.

“Just one, Scott, and then I’m going back to the hotel.”

“Excellent.”