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‘That’s okay, you must have a lot to sort out,’ Angie replies. ‘With the move home and everything. Presumably you have more to move?’

‘Those shoes look expensive,’ Mel points out, thankfully interrupting, only just noticing what’s on my feet at a perfect moment. ‘Do you have more like that?’

I glance down at my heels almost self-consciously. I’ve paired them with a thick pair of black tights and a little suede skirt. I must have been down south too long because my tolerance for the cool coastal air seems to have vanished.

‘You had a rich boyfriend, right?’ Angie checks.

Oh my God, what has Mum been telling them?

‘I bought these for myself,’ I tell them.

‘Hmm,’ Angie says thoughtfully. ‘If I’d had a rich boyfriend, I would have milked him for all he was worth, while I had him.’

Lovely.

‘So, if we’re talking about the ex…’ Mel pipes up excitedly.

‘I’m just going to grab a drink,’ I tell them, talking over Mel, pretending I didn’t hear her. I wander off towards the bar before they can start quizzing me. I know, all it’s going to do is buy me a little time. I will have to face her questions at some point, but at least I’ll have alcohol in me.

The bar runs along the length of the back wall and tonight there are no fewer than six members of staff running around behind there, one of whom I recognise – it’s Tim, my ex, and Angie’s husband. I purposely head to the other end of the bar, leaning over to see what they’ve got on offer.

There’s a whole seasonal cocktail menu – something they never entertained back in the day – propped up beside the pumps. Spiced rum hot chocolates. Maple espresso martinis. Pumpkin spice white Russians. Who knew Marram Bay was so upmarket now?

‘Excuse me,’ I call out to the back of a man’s head.

‘Be with you in a sec,’ he replies.

I wait patiently for my turn but it never seems to come. In fact, I think I can see people coming and going, all while I’m still standing here.

‘Excuse me,’ I call out again.

‘I’ll be with you in a minute,’ the barman calls back.

He’s flirting with the girl working alongside him. I don’t even think he’s realised that he’s already told me to wait once.

‘It’s just that I’ve been waiting for a while,’ I dare to pipe up.

‘If you’re going to be rude, I’m not going to serve you,’ he tells me with a smirk.

I feel like he’s trying to impress the girl next to him, which really pisses me off. I’m your typical late-twenties woman (soon to be thirty – not that I’m panicking), so I have no idea what I’m supposed to do in situations like this. I know that he shouldn’t be dismissing me like this, but at the same time I’m terrified of opening my mouth, because I just know that I’ll come across as a bitch.

‘Hey, buddy, can I get a drink?’ a man asks as he rocks up next to me.

‘Of course, mate, what can I get you?’ the barman asks, over like a shot.

Oh. Ohhh, now that pisses me off. How typical that he’s happy to serve a man. And how frustrating that a man is pushing in front of me like this.

I turn to him to say something, and as loath as I am to admit this, the fact he’s ridiculously good-looking stops me in my tracks. Bloody hell, I’m not surprised he’s getting served before me. He’s in his early thirties and he’s tall, dark and handsome, with a seriously charming cheeky smile. He’s wearing a dark jumper with the sleeves pushed up and smells faintly of cedarwood, which I love. I would probably give him whatever he wanted too.

‘Hmm, what can you get me?’ the man says as he scans the menu. Then he turns to me. ‘What do you fancy, darling?’

I freeze. He looks like he’s talking to me. Is he talking to me? Why would he be?

‘Darling?’ he prompts me. ‘This nice gent is waiting to take our drink order.’

‘Right, yeah, sorry,’ I babble as my brain catches up with me.

I don’t know why this random man is helping me to get served but I really appreciate it.