I excused myself from Adolf and Eva, determined to corner you, but as I was heading for the lounge door, the lights went off and Mrs Harris was wheeling in a trolley on which perched a huge candle-lit cake with crackling sparklers. The guests began to sing. ‘Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you . . .’

Dr Harris took centre stage, repeating, ‘Thank you, thank you, all,’ as the room sang off key. It took forever for him to blow out the fifty candles. At one point I thought he might die before extinguishing the last flame.

You’d disappeared.

Dizzy with champagne and frustration, I needed to escape for a while, gather myself and have a fag. I slipped away as everyone cheered and pretended Harris was a ‘jolly good fellow’ when I’m sure they too thought he was a wanker.

As I neared the lounge door, I encountered Dr Franco, who tried to make small talk through the hip-hip-hooraying. We both politely gave up and I mouthed I was going outside for a cigarette. I caught him looking at my dress. Not in a lecherous way. In a way that indicated he knew it was all a facade.

Outside was bliss. As the door shut behind me, and I stood in the spotlight once again, I wondered if I would even go back in. The night air was cool. The breeze kissed my skin, covered me in goosebumps. I enjoyed the shivering.

I crossed over the road to see if there was a way of getting into the garden square, but the gate was locked, so I returned to my earlier observation spot, rested against the railings and lit a fag. The interior of the house appeared brighter in contrast to the now-blackened sky. But I couldn’t watch that show anymore. I was separate from them. Different. Instead, I perched on the narrow rim of concrete holding the metal fence in place. Slipped off my shoes to circle my poor bruised feet and closed my eyes, enjoying the nicotine and my freedom.

They jolted open again to the sound of Harris’s door slamming. The security light switched on.

And there you were.

It wasn’t just you, though, was it? She was draped on your arm, laughing like the moron she was, as if you were hilarious. But you weren’t hilarious, Samuel. You were not funny at all.

My breath locked high in my chest. Had I been standing, I think I would have keeled over. You didn’t see me. Not because it was dark but because you were so busy kissing her, touching her. Pressing yourself against that fucking belly.