She responded with a frustrated sigh. ‘He needs to let it go, and realise she’s just a waste of space.’ Being April, she then moved straight on to, ‘Let’s go out. You and me. Let him sit and wallow and miss you, and we’ll have some fun. Forget all about it.’

It seemed like the perfect plan. Instead of sitting around and being the stressed-out girlfriend, I was going to get dressed up and have girl time. Laugh about it all, and maybe flirt harmlessly with a waiter or two.

You were happy enough for me to go. From your slumped position at the kitchen table you managed to stir up a small smile as I kissed you goodbye.

‘I’ll see Drunk Louise later,’ you said. Do you remember that? You found it cute, still, that whole Drunk Me, Sober Me thing.

I gave you a grin I didn’t really feel. ‘You’d better have water and Nutella ready.’

The night out started out all right. April was her usual hilarious self, and it made everything feel better. But then she showed me Dina’s engagement announcement on Facebook, and asked me what I thought.

It was a nauseatingly perfect picture, one that had, in all probability, been filtered to within an inch of its life. Dina was cuddled up to her handsome, clean-cut new man, her left hand displayed on his chest, with a frankly ridiculous diamond on the fourth finger.

‘Look at the background,’ April said. ‘That’s Florence. They’ve been back almost a week. She’s saved it up just for today.’

‘Oh my God.’ I felt, for some reason, more sickened than I had on my birthday. It felt so calculated. Evidence of such a long game, and one I was certain I would lose.

I knew, right then, that I was going to get drunk. So drunk that I had no recollection of anything, and felt nothing. Drunk Louise would handle the night from here on in.

It must have been late on when I suddenly snapped back into myself. I guess I’d had a gap in the drinking, and sobered up just enough to surface.

And it was the worst awakening. I found myself pressed up against a man I didn’t recognise, with his hands moving up the back of my thighs towards my backside and his face close to mine.

It took me a second to retreat. And then, when he came with me instead of letting go, another few seconds to push at him.

‘Hey!’ I could hear him say, over the music. ‘What the fuck?’

And then I was screaming at him and lashing out, my hands connecting with his upper arms and chest. I was telling him to get off. To let go. And, eventually, he did, with an angry shove that sent me reeling backwards.