‘Now that I would like to see,’ I say, thinking of Wilcox specifically. A moment later, I realize how bad that must have sounded, but she’s laughing.

Laughing at me or with me?

‘Fancy a dance?’ she grins at me.

I try to weigh up whether this is a joke at my expense. ‘I don’t dance.’

‘Everyone can dance. Come on, Palmer! Throw some shapes!’

Is she coming on to me? Laura is clever and pretty, but not too pretty, so perhaps there isn’t a huge mismatch in our relative attractiveness. Statistically, relationships where one partner is far uglier than the other never work.

But a woman who was coming on to me wouldn’t use my surname, would she? Or maybe she would. My mother’s unconditional adoration hasn’t equipped me to comprehend women I am not related to.

Even Kerry, who I’ve known since I was eight, baffles me in countless ways. Since she’s moved into the spare room, I can study her behaviour in even more detail, as a field biologist might, but it makes less sense than ever. She shops, cooks, washes up illogically. And she’s reckless, too. Since she passed her test, she drives everywhere as though she is catastrophically late.

But it’s her kindness and bravery that baffle me more. How she keeps smiling even when Mum’s jibes are so perfectly targeted. Why she gave up on going to uni, took the ambulance job and moved into the bungalow so I could come to med school.

I still can’t understand how she screwed up her exams when she was always so much smarter than me . . .

Laura is pulling me onto the dance floor and I sense the others looking our way.

She grins at me as the next song starts – ‘If This Ain’t Love’, not bad – and I try to forget that anyone is watching. Because if I can get over my self-consciousness, I’m better at dancing than people would expect. Could the same apply to kissing?

‘Bloody hell, Palmer,’ Laura shouts above the music, ‘you’re a dark horse.’

‘What can I say? Hidden talents.’

‘I wonder what else you can do?’ When she smiles wolfishly back, I wonder if this is where the physical side of my life begins? It’s long overdue.

I’m in the gents’ when the clock strikes midnight. New Year is meaningless as far as I am concerned. When I return, the dance floor is sticky and striped with party-popper streamers and Laura looks disappointed that I wasn’t there for Big Ben’s bongs.