‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘She said she thought you were just being friendly.’

‘I am friendly.’

‘Some might say over-friendly.’

‘Are you looking forward to your wedding?’ I asked.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I am.’

‘Me too,’ I said.

I thought I might be about to tell him something. Then Leo came over to demand I made a speech.

*

The cake was eaten, even the marzipan hair straighteners. Twenty-four bottles of Prosecco had been poured. Two hundred and eighty-eight units of alcohol, I told people, proud of my long multiplication. Sophie was going to let her dad buy her dinner and Emily had opted out. The gang were dragging me towards a bar with a dance floor on Hanway Street.

‘Coming?’ I asked Emily.

‘Tempting, but I should get back. I’ve drunk enough already.’

‘Come on. You’re getting married next weekend. Call this your hen do.’

‘I’ve been to Blackpool already.’

‘You can’t have a hen do on your own. Except, I suppose…’

‘What?’

‘Nothing.’

‘I haven’t danced in about five years.’

‘Well, that’s far too long, obviously. You have to come. I insist.’

She relented and ten of us staggered down the road, passing round the few bottles of Prosecco we had discovered scattered around the bookshop which still had some wine left in them. We binned them at Tottenham Court Road and made our way up into the little bar we always went to if a party in the shop had taken life. It has a dance floor the size of a living room which encourages physical intimacy and conversational shouting. The DJ was playing Motown. We all just bopped along. I shook my invisible maracas. Emily danced around her handbag, like an old woman trying to edge her way into a bad-mannered bus queue. Tequilas were passed around, bottles of lager. We practised our Spanish on tourists who practised their English on us. It was great. The time went by in what seemed like ten minutes, and then the place was closing.

*

‘Please don’t walk me home,’ Emily said, as I walked her along Oxford Street.

‘Get a taxi then, or the bus.’

‘I need to walk to sober myself up a bit.’

‘I’ll leave you alone, but only if you insist. I like hanging out with you.’

‘I’m putting you out.’

‘You’re not.’

‘Why’s my bag so heavy? There was hardly anything in it before.’ She pulled out a copy of Leo’s limited-edition hardback proof. ‘Oh,’ she said, and posted it into a litter bin.

‘You could never put me out,’ I said.

‘It’s totally safe, you know.’

‘Yes, the edge of a dark park. Totally safe. What could possibly go wrong there?’

‘Please don’t make me scared of the way I walk home.’

‘It’s not normally so late and you’re not normally so drunk. Let me put you in a taxi.’