‘It’s karaoke,’ Sasha excitedly states the obvious as she plonks our drinks down on the table. She shimmies her way round to sit beside me, keen to watch the action as well. ‘Are you going to sing? You have to sing.’

Sasha’s merely verbalising the thought swimming round my mind since the compère called Shanice up. Karaoke is my thing. For me, there’s nothing more energising than a mic in my hand. It makes me feel alive – almost invincible. As I continue to watch Shanice, I feel the familiar uncontrollable urge rising inside me. Sasha’s right. I have to sing.

‘OK, but what shall I sing?’ I ask her. ‘That woman is amazing. Maybe wait a bit before I put my request up.’

‘Rubbish. You’re as good as her. You just sing a different style of music. Ooh, wouldn’t it be cool if you could sing your own song – the one you wrote when you were recovering from your relapse – at karaoke one day?’

‘Ha, yeah. That’s never going to happen. It’s doomed to a life of concealment within my notepad app.’ I suddenly realise something. ‘Shit, Sash, I’ve never sung in public without plenty of drink in me. Not sure how I feel about doing it almost stone-cold, here, in front of all these people.’

I tune back in to Shanice’s singing; half the bar has now merrily joined in. Shanice herself is busting some serious moves as the song comes to its climax.

‘She should be on a stage, not doing karaoke in a city centre bar.’ I swallow thickly, now feeling quite intimidated. ‘What if they’re all like that in here?’

‘You talking yourself out of it? If it’s too scary without a drink for extra courage, don’t do it. No one’s forcing you.’

‘You’re doing that reverse psychology thing again.’

‘And?’ She chews her lip in anticipation.

‘And it worked. As usual.’ I give her a little wink. ‘Back in a sec.’

I get up and make my way across to the karaoke compère, propelled by Sasha’s triumphant hoot from behind me. He nods a greeting, while simultaneously managing the changeover from Whitney Houston to a current chart hit I recognise but can’t name. Shanice hands back the mic, before making her way back through her adoring crowd.

‘Evening, bab,’ he says to me. ‘Not seen you in here before. What you singing?’

I make my request, which is acknowledged with two thumbs up, then return to our table.

‘What did you put up for?’ Sasha asks before my backside has hit the seat.

‘You’ll have to wait and see,’ I reply, and she puts on a pouty face. ‘Might be a while. There’s a lot of people here.’

We sing along to the track that’s playing until it fades out and the karaoke compère’s voice booms through the mic once again.

‘Isaac. Come on up.’

Sasha and I look eagerly around for the next singer but no one seems to have claimed the identity of Isaac.