She wiped the top of the frame with her fingers and I had to jump back suddenly as she glanced out of the window.

‘Perhaps a quick one wouldn’t do any harm,’ she said as she laid the picture on its side against the wall, manoeuvring it with her free hand. She took regular sips of wine in between the activity.

‘Great. Shall I come over to yours or would you like to meet somewhere? What about The Woodman?’ I’d wait until she disappeared for her shower. That would give me time to lock up and get round the corner without being seen.

I was already in the pub, sitting at the bar, when she arrived. It was nine fifteen. If I’d been vaguely upset that she hadn’t rushed to meet me, getting there unfashionably early, my disappointment soon abated when she walked through the door.

It was like a first date, my stomach churned. I felt confident in that moment that things would turn out all right. They had to.

‘Hi, Arthur.’ She kissed me on my cheeks in the fashion of long-lost friends. I reminded myself that the charade of best friends was one I’d engineered. The tagline had lured her willingly to my side.

‘You look lovely. Wine?’

‘Yes please, just one. I’ve already had a glass,’ she lied. She’d polished off the bottle. Her eyes sparkled.

‘Seeing as it’s New Year’s Eve, perhaps we could treat ourselves to a glass of bubbly,’ I suggested.

‘It would be wasted on me as I’m going to get to bed before the clock chimes midnight.’ She seemed melancholic, but her mood was hard to decipher.

‘Killjoy! Remember last year?’

‘How could I forget?’ She laughed.

While I knocked back the wine, sensing that things were going according to plan, Amber brought up the subject of the airline tickets.

‘Have you made any plans yet?’ She was going to ask me to come away with her. I was euphoric, but not for long.

‘No. What about you?’ I waited and was about to take her hand, place her small delicate fingers between my own, when she made an announcement.

‘Yes. I’m going to Italy for a few days.’ Her lips were dry despite the drink. The room was hot, stifling and the noise swelled as the clock ticked and the evening passed.

‘Alone?’ Amber didn’t travel alone. She didn’t have the confidence to stroll through Rome or Milan, Tuscany or Puglia without a companion or a friend. Amber didn’t do casual conversation with strangers.

‘Yes, alone. Don’t sound so surprised.’

I certainly was no longer surprised by her lies. Amber had become duplicitous, two-faced, no longer the beautiful virginal girl of my dreams.