‘No. Would you like – ?’
I’m already steering him away from the crowded bar, onto the marginally less crowded dance floor.
‘I need to talk to you. I’m in Hell.’
Not a promising start.
‘I like someone. And I think he likes someone else.’ I’m trying not to cry. ‘I don’t know what to do.’
‘Please don’t ask me. I’m terrible at giving advice.’
He’s probably telling the truth, but I have to dance with a man, so Sam it is.
The band strikes up. We go down the set, all smiles and laughter; with the exception of yours truly, who looks like she’s sat on a cactus. Come the end of the dance, my partner is looking worried.
‘Do I know the person?’
‘Yes… it’s a mutual friend.’
Make that very worried. Not to mention awkward and uncomfortable.
‘Errrrrm…’ He won’t look me in the eye; I think I know what’s coming. ‘It’s not – it’s not me, is it?’
(TO BE CONTINUED)