We move up the street a little and then turn sharp left into a doorway. The lights are gentle, romantic. The floors are unpolished floorboards. There are paintings on every wall and the positioning of small lights makes them jump from the walls as though animated. I focus on one of the paintings. Now I understand why Camilla still has a firm grip on my hand. She wants to make sure I don’t do a runner.

My face grows warm and everything starts spinning a bit – like I’m one of those miniature ballet dancers in a music box – as I look from painting to painting.

I recognise the gold, the red and the comics. But the girl is different now. She’s blonde. And she looks a lot like me.

I look to Camilla. My eyes say, ‘Thank you but I’m scared,’ and I’m shaking my head as if to say, ‘Let’s get the hell out of here.’

‘You’re fine,’ she says and squeezes my hand, then skips off to the drinks table.

And so I do the only thing I can think of, I move over to the wall and start inspecting one of the paintings up close. It’s me, it’s definitely me.

I’m a dark-clothed, mysterious figure that seems to almost melt into her surroundings.

I think of that night over a year ago now, the one where I wandered into Le Voltage unannounced to take a picture and he was there.

Is he here?

But all I see are people milling around a small table set up with champagne, Camilla among them, and others talking to each other, saying things like ‘his juvenile works’ and answering statements with ‘Quite’.

‘So I have gifts,’ comes Camilla’s voice as she arrives next to me. I turn to grab my glass of champagne. And that’s when I see him.

On the far side of the room.

He looks just like he always did and is wearing a pair of light blue jeans ripped at the leg and a long-sleeved white shirt. I imagine his biceps under it. That tattoo: ka-pow.

And I’m just standing there, staring at him. Camilla frowns and turns to follow my gaze.

And that’s when he sees us too.

My heart is banging so hard against my rib cage it’s reverberating in my ears as he moves towards us in what seems like slow motion.

‘I’m going to give you a sec,’ Camilla whispers in my ear, and then she’s off, to the other side of the room. And I’m left, breathless and not sure what to do with my hands. I clasp my champagne glass.

‘Hey,’ he says, his eyes still on mine as he approaches.