‘I don’t know if I believe you. If you haven’t, it’s probably not through lack of trying.’

‘Why would I want to try? It’s you I like.’

‘I don’t believe that either. Don’t you feel entitled to a certain amount of revenge?’

‘On who?’

‘Me.’

We followed the party down a path through the grounds of a large Gothic-looking church.

‘You haven’t answered,’ she said.

‘I know,’ I said. ‘I’m still thinking about it.’

*

Five bottles of champagne waited for us in an ice bucket. Little pastries and sandwiches, hot, spiced things made from chickpeas. And our party got along quite merrily, to begin with, on our raised platform in the back of the pub. There were seats to sit on but we remained standing. Felix eyed my cigarette packet wistfully as I nipped out, before emerging to steal one from me, looking over his shoulder every few seconds for any sign of his mother. I liked Felix. He thought I had a ‘cool life’ when I told him, through force of habit, that I was a bookseller, with a magazine column, and that I lived in a shared flat on the Kingsland Road. ‘You sound like you have it sorted, mate,’ he said, and I realised that, yes, I had lived a teenager’s idea of a perfect life for the last thirteen years.

Back inside we talked and drank and ate and when I went to pour everyone another glass of champagne from the last bottle it ran out before I could pour myself one. Andrew called over to me to get a couple more, stick them on his tab.

So off I went to the bar, where a TV presenter in front of me was wearing a leather jacket. He looked around at me and nodded. I pretended I didn’t recognise him. ‘Congratulations,’ he said, looking at Emily.

‘Oh, yeah. Thanks.’

‘Want a drink?’

‘No, thanks. I’m getting a couple of bottles.’

‘You have a beautiful wife.’

‘I really don’t.’

‘It’s a bit early to be disenchanted already, isn’t it?’

‘I mean, she’s not my wife. She married the older gentleman over there.’

‘Oh! God. Right, well, he really does have a beautiful wife.’

‘Yes, he does.’

He turned back to the bar but I tapped him on the shoulder. ‘Why did you think we were married?’

‘I don’t know. You both look like you’re getting married. And you know, you’re the same sort of age.’

‘I’m with her,’ I said, pointing out Sophie, keen to impress him for reasons I would wince about when I had time to examine them. ‘I think.’

‘She looks very pretty too. I’d thought she was your sister. My girlfriend and I have been watching you from our table. Funny the way we think we can read a situation from the surface, but get it totally wrong.’