I feel a hand on the small of my back and turn to face Mark, who offers me a cold bottle of Budweiser and a grin that does go some way to melting my ice. ‘Nice to see you,’ he says. ‘Out of uniform, that is.’

I pull up at the V of the lime-green vest top I’d opted for, feeling suddenly very underdressed in several senses of the word. ‘Yes. Nice to see you too,’ I say, taking the drink. ‘I was expecting a few more of us than this!’ I sip the lager, grateful for the bubbles and a sudden hit of cool air from the vents above me.

‘Were you?’ He sounds surprised, ‘I thought it was only ever us four. I was looking forward to getting to know you a bit better.’

I shoot a look towards Emma, who, judging by the coquettish look she has on her face as Chris hands her first a pink then a pale turquoise bowling ball, is pretending she knows nothing about ten pin bowling. I happen to know this is a fabrication and it’s tempting to call her out as payback for luring me into a double date. I was there when she unexpectedly beat the returning champion in our student bowling league. I couldn’t speak for days after, so hard had I cheered her on. I peer from Emma to Chris, then to Mark, taking another swig of my lager. The fuzz of alcohol begins in the tip of my head and I decide there’s nothing for it but to throw myself into the evening. I knock back another slug.

‘Congratulations on the official promotion,’ says Mark. I look away, taking another drink. He leans back in; the heat of his breath on my neck sends an odd tingle up my spine. There’s the faintest smell of his aftershave too, thankfully different to Daniel’s this time. I let myself breathe it in. ‘Well deserved,’ he says, chinking my bottle. His proximity feels oddly comfortable so I move away slightly, both from him and his aftershave, nodding and drinking instead. No good comes from dropping my guard. He studies me for a second and it makes me feel odd but I can’t quite put my finger on why. ‘So it’s me and you against Chris and Emma then?’ he says.

‘You any good?’ I ask, happy with the change of conversation.

He shrugs.

‘Okay, well.’ I finish the bottle off, picking up another, enjoying the gradual detachment from my feelings. ‘I should warn you that what I lack in bowling talent I make up for in an unnecessarily competitive nature. I’m afraid I won’t be able to help myself from trying to win, despite it being unlikely. I apologise now if I get aggressive.’ Emma gives me the cue that it’s my turn. I hand Mark my bottle, pick up a ball, saunter down the approach to throw it with gusto, then watch it veer straight into the gutter. ‘Bollocks!’ I say, sulkily taking back my drink. Mark gives me a wry grin.