The waiter said he knew nothing about it but he’d enquire.

‘Seriously,’ Anna objected. ‘It’s not as if you’re asking for pixie dust!’

Not one other person at the table was a vegetarian. Oh, more flexitarians than you knew what to do with, everyone giving it, ‘I eat red meat twice a year, and then only if it’s grass-fed, organic and locally sourced.’

‘Start,’ I said as their dinners cooled before them. ‘Mine will be here soon.’

Daithí and Dolores were already horsing into theirs. Seeming uncertain, Devin and Angelo picked up their knives. ‘You sure?’

‘Absolutely.’

But Kate, Anna and Luke held off.

‘Please,’ I begged. ‘This is making me feel bad.’ Scanning the room, I thought I spotted our waiter down at the far end, dancing attendance on other people.

The whole business was curiously humiliating.

Luke was getting to his feet and throwing his napkin on the table. ‘Is that the guy?’ He indicated the man I’d been scoping.

‘I think so—’

‘Stay where you are.’

He wove his way through the tables and, watching the twist of his narrow waist, I felt almost sick with want. At the end of the room, he collared the waiter and engaged him in chat, pointing towards me. Next thing, both of them went to the swingy door that led into the kitchen—and disappeared.

I’d never see either of them again, I was convinced of it.

However, in an unexpectedly short time, they re-emerged, the waiter bearing a plate which, with some ceremony, he carried the length of the room and placed before me.

‘Thank you,’ I murmured, keeping my eyes low.

Luke’s kindness felt crushing. As if my lovesickness was so pitiable that hunting down my risotto was the charitable thing to do.

As soon as it was decent, I’d scarper, I decided. I’d go back to my house and lie low, waiting for everything to settle, my feelings to get back to normal, then I’d resume my life—which had been fine before all of this. Better than fine, actually. Lovely, it was lovely. Apart from the dearth of vintage Chanel handbags, I’d had no complaints.

In double-quick time the dinner plates were being whipped away and replaced with the gold-leaf dessert. Next thing Dad was up on a small stage, nervously holding a mic. He began thanking people, a phenomenal number of them, for making tonight possible. Then it was time for Mum’s speech, which had a lot in common with Father Ted’s lengthy, score-settling address when he won the Golden Cleric. And we were getting there. Soon everyone would be so drunk that I could slip away unnoticed.

I was surprised by a tap on my shoulder—Artie. Directly into my ear, he said, ‘Helen needs you. She’s in the ladies.’

Quickly I got up.