So, where was I? Oh yes, tonight. Stuart calls me at work and tells me where we’re meeting tonight, and I’m rather surprised to learn that it’s at Hadley’s. I haven’t been to Hadley’s since the party where we met, and my first thought is that I might run into Jonathan, which will be embarrassing because we still haven’t spoken since that night he walked out of the pub. It’s our longest ever split, and I guess it’s terminal, which means we’ll either have to avoid each other, or make polite small talk, or have a big public row, which at least might lead to a reconciliation. I am missing Jonathan far more than I’m prepared to admit. The only person I’ve got to talk to is Stuart, and he’s no good because the thing I really need to talk about is Stuart. Jonathan is a terrible listener, but talking to him is one step up from talking to myself, which I’m doing far more than is healthy. Sometimes I even do it at work. The new person who sits opposite me at Anna’s old desk gives me very funny looks and I realise that I’m muttering.

Hadley’s parties really aren’t what they used to be, because this time there are no waiters, and no champagne, just a table covered in bottles and plastic glasses to which we are invited to help ourselves. The boys who used to serve the drinks are now guests, which either means that they’re doing well and climbing the social ladder, or that Hadley is slipping down it and is obliged to socialise with ‘the help’. Either way, there are a lot of them, they all look like Nico-variants, and are possibly from the same village/gene pool. They wear the same horrible designer clothes and have the same interesting hairstyles, in any colour as long as it’s black.

Even though I arrive a bit late, Stuart is not there.

‘Ah,’ says Hadley, lumbering into my path, ‘it’s the Robster. Good to see you, mate.’ He never could keep his hands off me, but this time it’s more to steady himself than to molest me. I’m shocked at his appearance. He’s still huge, but his cheeks are sunken and his eyes, which used to be buried in puffy, over-tanned flesh, are protruding.

‘Hey, Hadley. How’s it going?’

‘Yeah, fine, fine, fine … Never better, mate … Wow look here comes Stuart.’

And here does come Stuart, beaming and swaggering and chatting to everyone he sees. At this rate it will be at least ten minutes before he traverses the five yards that separate us.

‘Have you seen Jonathan, Hadley?’

‘Who?’

‘My friend Jonathan. Oh, er, Nathan. Nate.’ I nearly add ‘the one who owes you several thousand pounds’ but think better of it. Perhaps they have come to some kind of agreement. I shudder to think what.

‘No,’ says Hadley, and suddenly has to take a call. He turns his back on me and crouches over his phone. All the black-haired boys are watching him for some kind of sign.