I smile politely, then scan the room for Connor. There’s no sign of him. I see the blonde woman standing at the bar, chatting animatedly. Something about her unsettles me though I can’t put my finger on it.

‘Who’s that?’ I say to Hanif, my lips loosened by the drink. ‘The blonde woman by the bar.’

‘Oh, that’s Sara,’ he says, his voice coming in and out of range. ‘She works in accounts.’

My body judders.

‘I thought Sara was the art director,’ I holler into Hanif’s ear. ‘Is that her girlfriend she’s talking to?’

He gives me a strange look.

‘Nah,’ he says, shaking his head. ‘The art director’s a bloke called Ian. And that’s Jess, Richard’s wife. Sara doesn’t have a girlfriend.’

I go to speak but as I do there’s an explosion of light and colour and music.

‘Here we go,’ says Hanif, pulling me to my feet. ‘Showtime.’

He drags me out of the VIP area towards the stage. I can see movement up there but it’s just a blur of reds and golds and pinks. The music grows louder, there’s a stamping of feet and then I feel someone’s hands on my waist.

I turn round and see Connor.

‘This is great, isn’t it?’ he says, pressing his face into my neck.

I nod my head, try to focus on what is happening on the stage, but I’m so tired I can barely stand up. I hear a high-pitched female voice and a thudding bass beat.

The room fragments into neon pieces. I feel my legs buckle and I reach out to hold on to something solid. A man asks me if I’m okay. I look up at him but his features melt into the background. The music grows louder; my head feels like it will burst. Someone’s hand is on my back, pushing me forward.

Next thing I know I feel a blast of cold air. I hear Connor’s voice though it sounds like it’s coming at me from a great distance. I see the lights of a taxi. It stops and I’m bundled inside. I turn to see Connor get in beside me. The taxi moves off and I can see the lights of Sloane Square up ahead, but my eyes are heavy, my head thick with drink. I put my head on Connor’s shoulder, close my eyes and fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.

17. Now

‘There you are,’ says Georgie as I return to the kitchen. ‘I was getting worried.’

In my absence, she has warmed up and served the pasta and has also made a large green salad. Jack is grating Parmesan into a dish and looks up at me wearily.

‘Everything okay?’