I avoid her gaze and instead look around the room. We always optimistically hope to play outdoor games for our summer meet-up, but obviously everyone is busy for most of the summer, so we’ve missed the month of sunshine and now it’s raining again so we’ve been forced back inside. I don’t know what game I want to play, but I gravitate towards the card table, abandoning Peter whilst he continues to defend his fish. It looks like they’re playing Racing Demon. It’s quite a fast-paced, aggressive card game. Often we only get through a couple of rounds before the shouting starts and we have to split up.

I sit down and start shuffling the pack of cards in front of me. Everyone else can shuffle like a professional card dealer in Vegas, whereas I just smear the cards around.

‘So, Bea, are you going?’

Rahul, sitting to my right, disturbs my card-smearing reverie. He’s the best cook out of all of us, and although he isn’t hosting today, he often brings delicious snacks. A part of me decided to sit next to him in the hope of preferential treatment.

‘Sorry, I wasn’t listening. Am I going to what?’

‘Our ten-year History reunion.’

‘Oh God, no.’

I continue to ‘shuffle’.

‘Yes, you are. You bought a ticket.’ This is Mia, who is shouting from the sofa, collecting someone else’s money. I’m not close enough to count, but I can see wads of fake cash on her side of the board and assume she’s winning, and winning comfortably.

‘What? No I didn’t.’

‘Yes, you did. We bought the tickets together.’ It must have been way back at the start of the year. Too long ago for me to remember.

I go back into my memory box and search it for anything that resembles me buying a ticket to a night of unnecessary emotional torture.

‘Nope, I don’t remember this.’

‘Check your emails. The ticket is in there.’

Ah yes, the email inbox. A better, more reliable memory box. I put aside the badly shuffled cards, only for someone to immediately pick them up and shuffle them much more proficiently, and get my phone out from my pocket.

Bollocks. As soon as I see the email, I remember the terrible (yet part of me is jealous that I didn’t come up with it myself) reUNIon logo pun.

‘Ugh. Why did I say I would go?’

‘From memory, you were hoping Rupert MacWhatshisface would be there.’

At this I blush.

‘Rupert MacDonald. And you remember his name – stop trying to pretend that you didn’t notice him when he stretched and his T-shirt would ride up a little.’

A couple of the girls nod in agreement and my eyes immediately go to Peter. I hope he doesn’t think that just because I would ogle Rupert MacWhatshisface I only find muscly physiques attractive. Because I don’t. I mean, I do but … argh.

‘OK, fine. He did have a good body. And you are coming.’