‘Hi,’ she says, bold as brass. Not that I know how bold brass really is. ‘Kat, isn’t it?’ He smiles sheepishly at me. ‘The cab’s here, baby,’ she says to him. Then she moves a hand to the small of her back, which somehow pushes out her baby-full stomach even more. ‘Sorry, Kat, lovely to see you again. Hey, we should get…’ She half motions the end of the ill-thought-out suggestion of us meeting up for coffee, or dinner, or perhaps to do a handover. Outgoing updating incoming on Daniel’s strengths and weaknesses. I wonder if he’s ever asked her to go to that ‘special’ wine bar down Attercliffe? She stops herself, smiling patronisingly, before waddling away with I’m-pregnant-don’t-you-know determination. She might as well have pissed up his leg, such was her need to prove their association. Well, she can have him. And very soon, I’m sure my heart will agree.

Daniel opens and closes his mouth a few times before realising he’s better off just leaving. He slopes off and any restraint I was clinging on to fades. Emma has appeared behind me. She takes my arm and leads me to sit down. Mark looks on, from a distance, no doubt uncertain what to do for the best. I wish he could telepathically read my request for him to come back beside me, if only to momentarily make Daniel think further about what he thought he saw when he almost asked who Mark was. I drain my bottle of its contents, looking around for another. In the absence of any, Mark appears by my side, albeit late, passing me his bottle with a sympathetic smile.‘He’s a shit, Kat. He always was, you just could never see it. I know this hurts, I know it has since he left, but honestly, hun, you are so much better off without him.’

Mark and Chris back off. The lights drop for Nineties at Nine and the boys take shots on mine and Emma’s behalf. I sit stunned, wondering which Spice Girls track they’re going to play and really hoping it isn’t ‘Mama’ because I am not doing a great job of holding it together as it is. Emma holds my hand whilst trying to stop herself from jigging along. I should have listened to my gut and stayed at home.

‘I think I might go,’ I say.

‘Pardon?’ shouts Emma.

I lean into her ear. ‘I said I think I might go home.’

‘Nooo! You can’t! Don’t let him ruin your night!’

I begin to tell her he hasn’t, but she can’t hear and I’m done shouting. Chris is trying not to look over at Emma, but it’s clear he’s quite taken. They really don’t need me all maudlin in the background. I give her a kiss and a big hug and tell her I’ll be fine. She gives me puppy-dog eyes but knows she won’t change my mind.

Standing by the counter, waiting to get my shoes back, I feel vulnerable. I’m not sure if it’s the situation or the lack of footwear in a public place. I look down and wiggle my toes as a larger pair of feet appears, in socks with the word ‘Monday’ down the side.