She nudged the pie over to me. ‘Here,’ she said. ‘I’m not going to eat it.’

I’d been casting a few looks towards Lou during the evening: there she was, checking her phone. Picking her teeth. Downing a glass of champagne in a single gulp. Loosening the knot of dark hair on top of her head, then tying it up again. I couldn’t tell if she was ignoring the parents at the table or they were ignoring her; either way, she didn’t seem to be talking to them.

A band was playing, a group of forty-somethings in cheap suits doing sexless covers of the Rolling Stones and Marvin Gaye. Hardly any of the athletes were dancing. Those who were looked strange, the muscles they’d cultivated suddenly asked to be flippant. Their bodies were overqualified for this. It was embarrassing. I watched the half-hearted shuffling and grinding while I drank a cup of bitter filtered coffee.

Then, to my horror, there was Lou, and she was dancing with Aleks. She was tipsy; I could see that in the high colour in her cheeks, and the way her face had relaxed out of its habitual grimace into a smile that was someone else’s: someone young and carefree. Aleks held one of her hands. His other hand was on her hip.

The song ended. There was a smattering of applause, and then Lou wandered to the bathroom, the same stupid smile on her face.

I followed her.

‘Hey, there you are,’ she said when she saw me. She pulled me into her chest and kissed the top of my head. I could smell the champagne and the perfume, the sweat, the faint chargrilled remains of the steak she’d eaten.

‘He has a wife. Remember?’ I said.

Lou pulled back. ‘Who has a wife?’

‘I’m serious.’

She walked to the sink, turned the tap on full and splashed water on her face. She grabbed a handful of paper towels and wiped away the makeup that had gathered under her eyes. Suddenly, she seemed sober.

‘They’re separating, actually. Not that it’s any of your business,’ she said.

‘Since when?’

‘It’s recent.’ She pointed to her own left hand. ‘See for yourself. No ring.’

‘You don’t even like him,’ I said. ‘You said he couldn’t be trusted. Remember?’

She walked to the bin and pitched the paper towels in.

‘What’s the matter, Joanie? Jealous?’

She seemed drunk again, swaying a little in her stilettos. She gave me a crooked, triumphant smile and left the bathroom.