‘You haven’t had any yet, silly,’ she said, and leaned forward – dislodging my head from her shoulder – and picked up a piece in its napkin. ‘Here,’ she said, clearing my hair away from my face and shoving it at me. ‘Get this down you. Sugar rush.’ Then she put her mouth close to my ear and spoke in a fierce whisper. ‘Seriously, he’s crazy about you. I’ve never seen anything like it.’ She pressed her lips together and hummed, ‘Here comes the bride!’

‘Fuck off!’ I laughed, pushing her away from me.

Later, I went to the Ladies. I was drunk in a bad way by then. At other events I’d acted drunk, talked the talk, swigged it back ostentatiously then just left my glass unlifted for longer periods than anybody else. Nobody ever noticed. Many times over the years I had slurred my words and behaved stupidly like the best of them but I had never been in earnest – until now. It was careless of me to make my own birthday an exception, especially on a midweek night. I would pay the next morning – it felt as though I was paying already, which was sort of unfair. The evening had slowed and stretched and everything, even going to the toilet, was effortful. What time was it anyway? It felt late, but then we’d started early. Soon, we would all go home.

As I was applying blusher in the mirror, smearing it across my face with my fingers in the absence of a make-up brush, a tall young woman at the neighbouring mirror – I was so drunk I had scarcely noticed her standing there – said to me, her voice sounding a little tearful, ‘You’re so lucky, you know. I’d love someone to sing to me like that.’

A few people who weren’t part of my group had come into the front bar during the song – they must have been on their way into the wine bar and stopped to see what the singing was about. I didn’t know what to say so made a murmuring sound of assent, looking at my reflection. With my make-up freshly reapplied, I thought I looked better than I probably did. It’s all relative, after all. I fluffed at my hair. The tall young woman had a large nose and heavy eyebrows. Her hair was dyed very black. I wondered what its natural colour would be. I saw myself through her eyes: a short, pretty woman with lots of friends and a boyfriend who sang to her in public, a woman who was given cake. Our reflections stood next to each other, staring at themselves, assaying the differences between us. The tall woman gave a small, single shake of the head and turned away.

*