“Darling, this is Andrew Smethers and his wife, Trina.”

Wow. Ross was right about the cosmetic surgery, but it’s been very well done. She looks amazing and nothing whatsoever like an “anesthetized fish.” I make a note to tell him off for being so mean.

“Pleased to meet you,” I say.

Trina Smethers leans forward and kisses me on both cheeks. It’s much more of a city thing, all this kissing. I’m gradually getting used to it. Next to Trina, I feel big and awkward, although we’re probably the same dress size. I brace myself for the small talk and the inevitable question about what I do for a living. What can I say that won’t make me sound like a sad relic from the 1950s?

As it happens, I don’t have to say anything because she gives me the loveliest smile, thanks me for inviting them, and steps aside so that her husband can take his turn at greeting me. I know Ross is a little wary of Andrew Smethers, what with them both vying for the same partnership position, but he seems really nice, and so does his wife.

The doorbell rings again. And so it begins. The voices, the laughter, the music. The popping of corks and the clinking of glasses. It’s nowhere near as bad as I thought it would be. In fact, now that it’s happening, I’m rather enjoying it. I thought I’d feel like a single guest at my own party, that it would remind me of all those dreadful school discos I used to go to, skulking in corners while everyone else had a good time, praying I wouldn’t embarrass myself by having a seizure.

Ross is on his third beer already, and I’m sure he had a cigarette in the garden earlier, even though he’s meant to have given up. For all his laid-back approach to the preparations, I can see how important it is to him that this party is a success. He beckons me over to where he’s standing, with a rather funky-looking older woman with a purple streak in her gray hair.

“Lizzie, this is June, our highly efficient practice manager. Soon to be retiring, more’s the pity.”

I shake the hand June offers me. So there are still people in London who don’t do the kissy-kissy thing. Thank heavens for that.

“Ross tells me you’re applying to Greenwich University,” she says. “I went there back in the early nineties when it was still Thames Poly. Made some of my best friends there.” She gives a wistful smile. “Oh, to be a student again.”