When I reach the velvet rope that cordons off the VIP area from the rest of the club, someone thrusts a glass of champagne into my hands. I’ve already had three glasses of Chianti and don’t normally mix my drinks, but the champagne is ice cold and refreshing, and I take a large glug of it as Connor holds out his hand and leads me inside.

‘You made it then?’ says Hanif, who is sitting on a red velvet sofa with two women and three men. One of the women, a strikingly attractive blonde with bobbed hair and a tight black dress, jumps to her feet and hugs Connor.

‘I’m so glad you came,’ she shrieks, almost spilling her champagne.

At this point, I’m expecting Connor to turn to me and make introductions. Instead, he sits down on the sofa next to Hanif, the blonde girl sits on his other side and I’m left standing like a spare part. It will look churlish if I try to squeeze in beside Connor so I sit on the opposite sofa and try to catch his eye. Stop being paranoid, Vanessa.

My champagne glass has been refilled for the third time and I’m starting to feel a little light-headed. Hanif and the blonde girl have left the sofa and gone to mingle while Connor has been joined by a tall, elegant man with white hair and tanned skin, who I assume, from Connor’s body language, is Richard, his boss. They talk for a few minutes, then Richard gets up and leaves. Taking this as my cue, I go over to where Connor is sitting. He looks up and smiles.

‘Hey, sorry about that,’ he says, patting the spot that Richard has just vacated. ‘Work stuff.’

I don’t know whether it’s because I’ve drunk too much champagne but Connor’s voice sounds odd, manic almost. I try to engage him in conversation but the music is so loud we can barely hear each other. Then he leans towards me and bellows in my ear, ‘Wait here a sec. Just going for a pee.’

I watch as he crosses the VIP area, pausing to speak to the blonde woman. Her cheek presses against his as she leans in to whisper something in his ear, her hand clutching his arm.

‘All right?’

Hanif flops down on the sofa next to me, looking rather dishevelled.

‘Yes, thanks,’ I say, my throat hurting from having to raise my voice.

A woman appears in front of us with a tray of champagne. I shake my head but Hanif takes two glasses and hands me one.

‘Go on,’ he says, thrusting it into my hand. ‘You have to make the most of a free bar.’