All lipstick and frills but no Tara. Then I notice one of the girls is wearing a different coloured sash to the others and when she turns, I spot the ‘Bride-To-Be’ printed on it. My heart relaxes. This is not my party.

It’s half past eleven now and they still haven’t arrived. I’m thinking I won’t be able to wait much longer when I see her. Tara Moore, walking through the door, surrounded by her flock. My heart leaps and my hand shakes as I knock back the rest of the vodka. Tara looks – well, a bit tired but that’s probably the drink she would have had earlier. She hasn’t changed much. Her hair is still cut in a casual bob. She’s still refusing to wear high-heeled shoes, preferring a pair of Dr Martens with her dress. Emily appears to have put on a few pounds. She was so skinny back then, always dressed in black clothes with a white dusting of powder at the end of her nose. I wonder if she still dabbles in it or if she finally quit when Rose found out and caused murder, accusing Tara of leading her darling, little, innocent Emily astray. That made me laugh… It made Tara cry.

For a moment I feel sad I’m not with her. That I’m not the one who set up her hen party Event page. But the feeling doesn’t last long.

The pack is moving this way and as Tara gets closer I see a line of worry shadowing her bravado. I could always tell when something was bothering her. The way she only half lifted her smile, the stillness in her eyes. Tara could read me too. She’d know if I was in a bad mood or if I was hiding something. Back then, I didn’t mind being read.

Tara won’t recognise me. Not with the fake glasses and curled hair that’s hiding half of my face. I’m cleverly hidden behind this disguise. When she walks a few feet by me, my heart almost bursts with excitement. I turn to face the bar but I can sense her standing close to me, smiling and laughing, keeping her crowd happy.

I must make sure she doesn’t see me. Tara can’t know that I’m following her. She’ll think I’m mad. I think I’m mad.

When she returned my call the first time I rang her she caught me off guard. I wasn’t prepared to talk to her, having just come from an upsetting consultation at the clinic.

I answered the phone and changed my voice, pretending to be my secretary. ‘Dr Faye Connolly is doing her rounds at the moment.’ I was laughing inside.