‘I’m a civil servant. I’m about to move into the foreign office. Lots of international travel.’ I thought of the pile of papers on my desk, the dense type about urban planning. I warmed to my fantasy job. ‘I’ll be preparing briefings for the foreign secretary so I’m going to have to have a much higher security clearance.’

‘Wow, amazing. I’m just another dullard in the City. I wish sometimes I’d done something more meaningful with my life.’

‘There’s still time,’ I said, allowing my fingers to graze his hand as I raised my glass to my lips. Something complicated crossed his features, but he swiftly wiped it away.

‘Now, tell me, is it appalling form if we get a top-up when our glasses are half full?’ he asked.

‘Terrible,’ I twinkled.

For the next few hours I kept us in a bubble of bubbles, refusing to engage with my family. Josh’s disapproval radiated off him, but all it did was egg me on. Some part of me wanted to live up to all of their worst expectations of me. To prove them right. The fact that Guy and I had started going out for longer and longer fag breaks kept us out of sight for much of the time, and the discovery of a nook near the loos, complete with comfy velvet sofas, meant we could eventually stage a complete disappearance.

‘This has been really nice,’ he said, slinging his tree trunk of an arm around my shoulders. ‘Getting to know you properly. Not just some little squirt reading Just Seventeen.’

‘Excuse me,’ I said, leaning into his chest. ‘I’m sure I was reading Proust. I was a teenage genius, I think you’ll find.’

He held my gaze, then kissed me lightly.

‘You’re really fun, aren’t you? Really funny.’

‘So are you,’ I said, pressing my lips against his, closing my eyes. His kiss felt tentative at first, but it rapidly gathered heat. The room started to spin in the darkness. I snapped open my eyes. His eyes goggled back at me, vertiginously close from this angle.

‘You’re so pretty,’ he said quickly. ‘So, so pretty.’

‘Thanks,’ I said, entwining our fingers. Something was off, but I kept pushing the feeling away. I was painfully drunk, painfully disturbed by Esther’s presence. I took another gulp of champagne, leaning towards the ice bucket we’d stolen from behind the bar. ‘How fun are you feeling?’ I said. ‘On a scale from one to ten?’

‘What do you want me to say?’ he enquired, leaning in.

‘Eleven?’ I shrugged.

‘So, what have you got in mind?’ he asked.