I turn towards the face behind the voice; I don’t recognize either.

‘Hi, I’m Bea.’ I hold out my hand. I still don’t know if people still shake hands any more, but it’s too late to back out now.

‘Michelle.’

‘I don’t think we met at uni.’

‘I don’t think we did either.’ She meanders closer to the painting. ‘Good lord, I don’t know why I came here this evening.’ She looks so confident. Her dress isn’t one I would choose, but it makes me want to go out and buy more clothes with colours. ‘Well, no, that’s a lie – I know why I came. My husband made me come, but now I’m here and I wish I wasn’t, so I’ve been trying to find somewhere, or someone, safe to hang out with. That woman’s voice –’ with a nod towards Harriet – ‘is driving me nuts.’

I can’t help but let out a laugh. ‘Oh, thank God. I’m so glad it’s not just me.’

‘It isn’t. I think my husband took one module with her in first year, learnt from his mistake, and chose all his other modules based on whether or not she was also in the class.’

‘Who’s your husband?’

‘That man over there with a handful of snacks.’

‘I like him already.’

‘Me too. Although I would like him more if some of those snacks were for me.’

‘So why did he want to come?’

‘Apart from the food? I think he genuinely wants to know what people are up to. I think he’s actually interested. I lean towards the idea that I keep up with everyone I want to keep up with anyway.’

‘I’m in that camp too.’ I take a sip of the horrible wine.

‘So, seeing as I know nothing about you except for the fact we went to the same university but never met, tell me about yourself.’

Tell her what about myself? ‘What would you like to know?’

‘Anything you’re willing to share.’

I exhale and shift my weight from one foot to the other. What do I want her to know? I remember my prepared answers, but my run-in with Rupert has left me feeling like it’s OK to just go with the truth. So I do.

‘I am so frustrated with how I’ve been living my life. For years I’ve been working at a job that I don’t particularly like, I avoid any kind of real intimacy, and I’m uncomfortable about the idea of putting myself out there because I’m so afraid of failure. And I do all this because I think that doing these things, or not doing these things, will make me happy, or at least keep me from being unhappy, but they don’t. I’ve been burying my head in the sand.’ I keep my eyes on the painting. ‘I think I’m coming out of it, and I think I know what it is I want to do, but I still don’t quite know how I’m going to do it, and I’m still really afraid that I’m going to fail. And the irony is, the further I go down this path and the more I try not to fail, the worse failure is going to feel.’