Alex raises an eyebrow. He really does have a very nice face. Emma gets up and goes and throws a load of ice and stuff in the blender, shouting, ‘Sorry,’ as she turns it on, drowning out my words as I’m about to start explaining.

Emma tips a pink slush into our glasses and Alex tastes it, pulling a face. ‘Bloody hell, that’s like rocket fuel. I’ll make the next one, or we’ll all end up with alcohol poisoning.’

‘We met at uni,’ I say, starting again. ‘I was crying in the loos because I’d just dumped my boyfriend back home for someone who’d promptly cheated on me a week later.’

Emma laughs, but not unkindly. ‘Oh God, we’ve all been there.’ She picks at some slices of red pepper while I’m stacking a tortilla wrap with chicken and cheese and more sour cream, just for good measure. I roll it up and realise there’s no way of eating it that doesn’t involve half of it falling down the front of my top and the other half spilling all over my chin, so I end up sort of dangling it in mid-air.

‘So I took her out, bought her three vodka and limes, and told her the secret was to go out and lay his ghost,’ Becky chimes in. I hadn’t even noticed her coming back.

‘The best way to get over someone is to get under someone else?’ Emma says, taking a drink. She’s one of those people who manages to just radiate cool. If I’d said that I’d have blushed extravagantly and probably got my words all tangled up into the bargain.

‘I think so,’ I say. ‘I wish I could remember lines like that. I never think of the right thing to say until hours later, when I’m lying in bed reliving the whole conversation.’

‘God, me too.’ Alex looks at me and does an upside-down sort of smile, and the sides of his eyes crinkle a bit as he looks directly at me. I feel like we’re on the same team for a second. It’s nice. He lifts up the tequila bottle, waving it in Emma’s direction. ‘Oh go on,’ he says. ‘Throw caution to the wind. D’you want to make another one of those – whatever it was you just made?’

I feel like the world is starting to sway gently – or maybe I am. But I’m just the right sort of happily pissed where I feel like the edges have been blurred a bit and I don’t feel as self-conscious as I usually do.

The other half a bottle of tequila later and we’ve managed to persuade Becky to put on something other than Christmas music. We’re all sitting round the table, which is scattered with empty plates. The window isn’t even open, but we can hear a gang of teenagers passing, singing Christmas carols and laughing loudly. I get up and look outside, marvelling at the idea that outside there are eight million people, all living London lives, and in just a couple of weeks I’m going to be one of them. It’s just an ordinary street, but to me it feels full of magic and promise.