We go to the bar and get drinks, and it’s there that Will apologizes for giving his dad my address. I tell him not to worry; that actually it was good that he did, as it gave me the opportunity to get a lot off my chest, and that I hope the two of them have made up. He tells me they’re going away together at Christmas to do some father-and-son bonding. Skiing? No, the Maldives. Apparently David had booked to go there with his now ex-fiancée on honeymoon, and he can’t get his money back.

‘We’re in the honeymoon suite,’ says Will and laughs. Which makes me laugh. Because you have to, don’t you? And actually the thought of David and Will with petals sprinkled in the shape of love hearts on their bed is really very funny.

Talking of exes, one person who I know isn’t going to show up is Ajay. Not that I’m sure I can officially call him an ex, but still. He texted earlier to thank me for the invite, but said that he had a very jealous girlfriend and feared there could be Murder on the Dance Floor. To which I replied ha-ha, very funny. To which he replied that only I would get that joke, which was exactly the reason he couldn’t come.

Life’s funny, isn’t it? Who you click with, and who you don’t. Who you see as just a friend, and who you see as something more. They call it chemistry, but it’s so much more than that – that magical connection you feel when it clicks for both of you at exactly the same time. It’s a phenomenon. Some people never feel it. Others get lucky once; some people several times over.

Whether it lasts is another thing. It didn’t stand the test of time for me and David, but now that I’ve stopped grieving over my marriage, I don’t see it as a failure any more. Just because something doesn’t last for ever doesn’t make it less valuable. A relationship shouldn’t be measured by time and how it ends, in order to be seen as a success. It was great and brilliant and wonderful for a while, until it wasn’t. And maybe that’s how life’s supposed to be.

And maybe some relationships don’t even start. Maybe they’re only a spark and, if you don’t catch it quickly enough, it goes out. Maybe that’s what happened to me and Ben.

Where is he?

As the evening wears on, I find myself distracted, watching the entrance, waiting for Ben to arrive. We haven’t spoken for weeks now and I stopped texting when he stopped replying. I know he’s been avoiding me. But tonight brought with it a hope for reconciliation – a chance to talk and clear the air. To at least try and be friends. But as it gets later and later, doubts begin to form, until suddenly a thought strikes me: what if he’s not coming? And I’m hit with such a crushing sense of disappointment that I realize, for the first time, just how much I want him to.