One of them glanced round and gave her the smallest of smiles, and she looked away, quickly, ashamed of how wobbly she suddenly felt.

She pulled her bag onto her lap, the big, comforting shield, and pretended to be rooting around in it. When she looked up again, the dancing guy was facing away from her, as though nothing had ever happened, and she sighed.

For fuck’s sake, get a grip, Louise. Nobody’s looking at you. Nobody cares.

She wondered whether she should have just one more drink. Another gin and tonic. Just to ease the panic.

She looked over towards the bar, which she realised wasn’t even that crowded. It was still only eleven fifteen. Early for a club. It wouldn’t turn into a real crush until later, at pub kicking-out time.

The barman April had flirted with was speaking to someone, but there was no queue behind them. She could get over there, get herself a drink and get back before April returned. A small victory for independence.

She stood, pulling her bag strap over her head, and began to walk over. She saw the barman nod in her direction, and the guy who’d been talking to him turned towards her.

And as she took in his face, her whole body felt like it was tipping sideways into some kind of a void.

‘You’ve got a fucking nerve.’

Hanson swung round, the phone still close to her ear, even though she’d rung off. There was urgency thrilling through her, and the person she cared least about just now was Damian. And of course, of course, he had followed her to the bloody pub. And of course he’d chosen now to confront her.

‘What exactly do you think you’re going to get out of this shit?’ he asked her. ‘Do you think you’re going to get me put away? Because I’ve done nothing the fuck wrong, and you’re going to look like a total tit in front of your precious new colleagues.’

She’d thought so many times over of the things she’d love to say to him if she were to confront him. She’d fantasised about it for days. How she’d laugh at him and tell him to talk to her solicitor. Or she’d ask how he’d liked being caught on camera.

But in the end there was no time for anything she had to say. And when she thought about it afterwards, there couldn’t have been a better way of pulling the carpet out from under him than what she said instead.

‘Sorry, but I don’t have time for your bullshit right now.’

And she pushed through the heavy swing door of the pub and said, ‘We’ve got everything, everything, wrong.’