The rest of them will be booted and ready to bowl by now. As I make my way through wafts of Burger King, Nando’s and petrol fumes from the car park, I pass a group of lads outside the bowling alley waiting for one of their own to join them. The abuse they hurl as they see him arrive is thrown right across my path. ‘Sorry, love, that wasn’t meant for you. I’m sure you’re not a massive dickhead!’ one of them says. ‘Nah, she’s not a massive dickhead – she’s well fit though!’ says another, stuffing his hands into his jeans and thrusting. It’s enough to turn me back around for home, but Emma sees me through the glass doors and waves. No going back now.

The sound of the heavy balls hurtling down alleys is only just audible over Jessie J, Ariana Grande and Nicki Minaj, each singing something loud and screechy. Despite wishing I was at home in my pyjamas, I find nervous tension moves me to the beat as I queue for shoes. The group of lads I passed are now queuing behind me, talking about my arse. I stuff my hands in my back pocket, then remove them, not sure which draws more attention. I search for backup in the form of Emma, but she’s moved on and is already at an alley, chatting to Mark. He leans into her, whispering something in her ear, the music forcing a certain proximity. She throws her head back in raucous laughter and I’m reminded of how far from being that sort of girl I really am. The sort who enjoys the rituals of a mating dance, who can hold her own when being catcalled by lads barely through their GCSEs.

‘KAT!’ shouts Emma, fighting to be heard over the din. She’s dancing to the music, drinking some kind of alcopop through a straw. Her usual uniform has been replaced by skinny jeans, a white shirt and a huge grin on her face.

‘Evening!’ I shout, painting on a more upbeat mood. ‘You look swit-swoo.’

She flings her arms around me and kisses the side of my face. ‘You are so late!’ she shouts over the music, right into my ear, frowning before slapping the side of my arm and demonstrating that not only am I late, but I’m woefully behind on alcohol consumed. ‘So, we’ve got ourselves signed up,’ she continues, pausing briefly to dance to the start of a new song. ‘You and Mark are on one team, me and Chris are on the other.’ I look around for Chris, one of the radiologists from work, waving as I spot him. And then I realise there’s no one else here. Our work night out looks suspiciously like a double date.

‘Where’s everyone else?’ I ask Emma sternly. ‘Emma, I’m really not in the mood for this. Now isn’t a—’

‘I asked around,’ she says, leaning into me, ‘but nobody else could make it. I did wonder about cancelling, doing it another night, but it seemed a shame not to come out anyway. They all send their love though, and their congratulations.’ She beams at me. ‘And besides, Chris could make it and… Chris is lovely.’ She grins in his direction, to his total obliviousness.