‘Oh…my…God! You will not believe what I just saw.’ She’s on the verge of passing out.

Tom and I both look at her blankly. ‘What?’ we ask in unison.

‘So, I was in Starbucks, waiting for my double shot cappuccino with extra chocolate, and this guy walks in – I recognise him from somewhere. I’m not sure where, but he’s one hot piece of man. Anyway, he’s just stood there, minding his own, and this woman comes strutting in and tips a frappuccino all over him,’ She pauses to draw breath. ‘So, the woman starts screaming at him, calling him a lying, selfish arsehole, and then just walks out, leaving him dripping in frozen coffee and cream. It was all very dramatic.’

I sit and watch as Victoria recovers from her two breath commentary about the happenings of Starbucks on a Friday morning. Nothing like that ever happens when I’m in there.

‘It sounds like someone’s been a naughty boy,’ Tom smirks. ‘How hot was he?’

I roll my eyes. No doubt Tom would have flown to his rescue.

Victoria hands come up in front of her, palms forward. ‘We’re talking Men’s Vogue.’

‘No!’ Tom takes his glasses off. ‘Is he still there?’

She screws her pretty little face up. ‘No.’

Oh, this is ridiculous.

Patrick comes barrelling into the office. ‘Guys, have we any work to do, or is it fart around Friday?’ He passes us swiftly, heading into his office and shutting the door behind him.

‘You two, let’s get on with some work, shall we?’ I shoo them away from my desk.

‘Oh, I forgot.’ Tom swings around. ‘Van Der Haus called to say he’ll be back in London on Monday. He’ll call you upon his return. He’s emailing you the specifics and had these sent over. Is he hot?’ His eyebrows jump up suggestively as he hands me an envelope.

He’s the biggest gay tart, but I’ll humour him. ‘Very.’ I take the drawings, widening my eyes for affect.

He screws his face up. ‘How come you get all the dishy clients?’ He walks back to his desk. ‘What I wouldn’t give to have an Adonis walk in here and throw me over his shoulder.’

I wince at Tom’s referral to Jesse’s performance the last time I saw him and pull my phone out of my bag when it starts bleeping with a calendar reminder. Oh, my hairdresser’s appointment, tomorrow at noon. I forgot about that. Well, that’s improved my mood slightly. And I’ll be nicely groomed for our big night out. Perfect.

I work my way through heaps of quotations, delivery schedules and contractor requirements, before calling my live clients to check all is well. It is, apart from Mrs Peters swags and tails drama. An email lands from Mikael. I scan it quickly, deciding to look at it in more detail on Monday.

Sally comes scuttling up to my desk with a delivery. ‘Urm…I think this may be for you, Ava.’ She shifts from side to side with a box in her hand. ‘Do you want it?

What? Yes, I want it. If it’s a delivery for me, then I guess I want it. Oh, this girl is painfully anxious. I take the box from her hands.

‘Thank you, Sally. Will you make Patrick a coffee?’

‘I didn’t know he wanted one.’

Oh, the panic on her face has me wanting to make her a coffee. ‘Well, he doesn’t look right. Let’s look after him.’

‘Is he okay? He’s not ill, is he?’

‘No, but I think he could do with a coffee.’ I press, trying my hardest not to lose my patience.

‘Of course.’ She scuttles off, her brown plaid skirt swishing around her court shoes. I couldn’t even hazard a guess at her age. She looks about forty, but intuition tells me she’ll shock me and be nearer my age. I open the box and find all of the material swatches I ordered for The Life Building. I throw the box under my desk. I’ll deal with them on Monday too.

As six o’clock approaches, I pop my head around Patrick’s door. He really doesn’t look right.

‘Patrick, I’m off. Are you okay?’

He looks up from his computer and smiles, but his eyes don’t sparkle like usual. ‘I’m just feeling a little peaky, flower.’

‘You should go home.’ I’m worried.

‘I think I will.’ He heaves his big body up from behind his desk and turns his computer off. ‘Bloody woman’s fed me something dodgy.’ he mutters as he picks up his briefcase.

‘Everything’s been turned off. You just need to set the alarm.’

‘That’s good. Have a good weekend, flower. I’ll see you on Monday.’ He wipes the back of his hand over his sweating brow. There’s definitely something wrong.

‘Okay, see you on Monday.’

***

I stand in my bedroom ready to go. My hair is behaving – happy that it’s been blow dried into tumbling waves, courtesy of Philippe, my hairdresser – and the new dress I picked up from Selfridges was a panic buy to make me feel better but fits perfectly. It’s black, short and very tight. With dramatic, smudged eyes and nude lips, I’m looking pretty sultry.

I walk into the kitchen, finding Kate hanging out of the window having a sneaky fag. What’s she thinking about now? She looks her usual lovely self, in a cream backless dress.

‘Wow!’ she blurts. ‘Someone’s out to impress tonight.’ She jumps down from the worktop, slipping her feet into her gold heels. ‘Short enough?’

I arch an eyebrow at her, running my eyes down her dress. ‘Pot…’

She laughs her carefree laugh that never fails to bring a smile to my own face. ‘Here.’ She hands me a glass of wine. I take it gratefully, pretty much necking it. It’s very welcome. ‘The taxi’s here.’

I dump my empty on the side and follow Kate out to the taxi. I’m looking forward to my recovery night, but ignoring the fact that my recovery night is to recover from a few steamy encounters with a steamy male, and not to recover from the breakdown of my four year relationship with Matt. It’s ironic. I never felt the need to go out and get steaming drunk after my break up with Matt.

We walk into Baroque, spotting Tom and Victoria at the bar immediately.

‘What the hell?’ Tom exclaims, running his eyes up and down my black clad body on a grin. ‘Ava, you look lethal!’

‘Really good, Ava.’ Victoria adds.

It’s just a dress. ‘Thanks,’ I shrug, pulling the hem down.

‘What are you having?’ Kate asks.

Well, I’ve already had a glass of wine, so I guess I should stick. I did say I was going to have a good drink. ‘Rose, but make sure it’s Zinfandel, please.’

Kate orders the drinks, and we make our way to a tall table near the DJ. Tom’s wearing his new coral shirt and too tight jeans – he may as well have gay tattooed on his forehead, and Victoria looks as pretty as always. Everyone’s really made an effort tonight, me included. Why is that?

As the wine flows down, my troubled thoughts flow away. We’re laughing and chatting, and I’m beginning to feel normal again. I feel foot loose and fancy free. I like it. My Mum has always said “Alcohol makes for loose lips and loose lips sink ships”. This, I have just discovered, is most certainly true because I’m totally lit up, and I’ve filled everyone in on recent events. Considering I wanted to forget about it, I’m doing a bloody good job of hanging on to the memories.