Growing up, I might have found a way to turn my inwardness outward had I been willing to stick with the humiliation. Push myself. But I didn’t want to – certainly not without any encouragement, and none was being offered. With time, people lose patience with shyness. They want to be rewarded for their time, turning callous when they see no improvement. The parties got worse. I would sit in a corner and refuse to play Spin the Bottle or whatever sticky game they were playing. But I would go because it felt worse not to. When I began to receive fewer and fewer invitations, I knew deep down that I had only myself to blame. Unable to disentangle my resentment from my awkwardness, I let my predicament conflate into a general feeling of malaise until I was unable to tell if I was right in hating them or they were right in hating me. I was too busy, at that point, hating myself for not trying harder. Finally, I made a resolution to tell people I hated my birthday. I wasn’t the only teenager to say so, but I thought I was the only one whose wishes were never contravened. Nobody ever organized a surprise party for me.

Adulthood offered a chance to crystallize my adolescent resolve: I simply became a person who doesn’t enjoy parties. That’s Ruth Beadle. Everyone knows I’ll be the first to leave the staff Christmas party, and the last one was no exception. I go because Call-Me-Melissa won’t take no for an answer. She keeps an eye on me like you’d keep an eye on a child at dinner. I wash down her cardboard canapés with water and I stay sober until she is drunk enough that I can finally leave. I don’t want Melissa to think I’m ungrateful.

I’ll go to the staff Christmas parties because I have to, but for all other purposes I have developed a set of curt stock responses that I yield when I’m hard-pressed. ‘I don’t like the crowds.’ ‘I don’t like the drinking.’ ‘I don’t like the stink of smoke on my clothes the morning after.’ Adults can sense when you’re holding back from explaining a painful childhood memory; mostly they won’t bother making it into an uncomfortable conversation. ‘I was a bit of an outsider in school, I guess.’ I leave a suggestive pause. Does she abseil at weekends and doesn’t want to spoil her balance? they might think. Or is she into another kind of party – kink parties, perhaps, it’s always the quiet ones, isn’t it! – and doesn’t want to waste a minute on a lesser occasion?