As I near the bar, I can see Peter more clearly … and the girl he’s talking to. From the look of things, she would have fitted in perfectly well with the Bodley Babes. She reminds me of a magpie: attracted to anything that sparkles.

‘Hey, Pete. Ready for some chicken?’ I think I can see hesitation in his eyes, so I add, ‘Or do you want to hang out here for a while longer?’

‘Well, I have just ordered another drink. Can I get you one and then we can go for dinner?’

The idea of being Peter’s wingwoman on what has been an already taxing evening is too much for me to handle. I can feel my mask slipping. I must retreat.

‘Of course, finish your drink. I’m going to head out though. I didn’t have lunch today,’ (lie) ‘and I have an early exercise class tomorrow morning,’ (a bigger lie) ‘so I’m gonna go pick up something to eat and head home.’

I think he might be a bit sad, but not sad enough to cancel the order. ‘Sure thing.’ He pauses. ‘Hey, it was great to see you though. Sorry about Al and his list of intense questions.’

‘No worries.’ I try to hide the disappointment in my face. ‘Night, Peter.’

I give him a quick hug and make my way through the crowd. My backpack, which I have put on as added armour, keeps snagging against the shoulders of people who appear to be having a much better time than I am, making me feel even more out of place.

Back at home I curl up on the couch, slightly bruised, with a microwaveable veg pot that is too hot to eat balanced precariously on the arm of the sofa. What I don’t understand is that everyone else there seemed to be having a good time. Even Peter, who only went as back-up for his friend. I found it tiring and depressing. I turn the TV on even though I know I’m not in the headspace to watch anything, but the background noise makes me feel slightly less alone.

My phone pings; it’s Mia.

How was speed dating? x

I don’t know how to respond, so I decide not to.

Instead I put my phone down and look at the sad crumpled-up piece of paper that has my hastily scribbled notes on it. Nobody stood out for a good reason. I crumple it back up and throw it across the room.

CHAPTER 10

By the time Thursday, aka second-date-with-Toby day, rolls around, I’m ready for a nap. Tensions in the office are at an all-time high as we’ve had to scrap the kids’ vitamins altogether and there are no tea-bags left in the kitchen. I’ve had to resort to drinking hot water. You can’t dunk biscuits into hot water. It’s an absolute nightmare.

Even texting Toby has become a chore. My general malaise has bled into my messages, and I know I am bordering on boring, but I have no armour against it.