Page 74 of So, I Met This Guy . . .

We’d arranged to have dinner at our local Italian and invited just a few close friends. As Theo disappears to the loo, they crowd around me, hugging and kissing. Mike and Pat, my old neighbours; Jenny and Samir, two amazing local artists; and George, who made a special trip up from London to be here tonight.

‘What about his friends?’

‘Huh?’

As George clinks his champagne glass against mine in celebration, I laugh giddily, not understanding.

‘What are you talking about?’

‘Well, these are all your friends.’

‘They’re our friends now. Mi casa, su casa.’

Buzzing with happiness and alcohol, I can’t take the grin off my face, but George frowns.

‘I just think it’s odd that he doesn’t have any friends.’

‘Odd, why? He’s lived in LA for the last twenty-plus years. All his friends are in America. He’s starting again over here. And anyway, what does it matter?’ I break off, irritation threatening to ruin my good mood. ‘Don’t tell me you’re jealous,’ I tease.

Actually, when I said everyone loved Theo, I should have said almost everyone. George doesn’t, but then George can be very territorial when it comes to my boyfriends. He hasn’t liked many of them and no one is ever good enough. He hated my ex-husband with a passion – thankfully it was brief – and barely tolerated my last relationship with a sculptor, who I was with for several years, before it fell apart because of his drinking. In many ways George is like the protective older brother I lost. In others, he’s the bitchy best friend. Tonight he’s being the possessive lover.

‘He’s got a fabulous arse, I’ll give him that,’ he admits, almost reluctantly.

I laugh. I know that’s as close as I’m going to get to his blessing.

‘Definitely fit.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Just feels a bit weird, that’s all.’

‘Not everyone has as many friends as you, George,’ I point out. ‘You’re like the pied piper. Everywhere you go you attract people.’

‘Classic insecurity,’ he grins. ‘Can’t stand my own company. Tortured soul.’

He affects one of his brooding looks and I roll my eyes.

‘I surround myself with people so I don’t have to be alone with my own self-loathing.’

‘Don’t say that!’

‘I’m only joking. Sort of.’ He raises a perfect eyebrow. ‘Total FOMO.’

‘FOMO?’

‘Fear Of Missing Out.’ He breaks off. ‘God, is that even a thing any more? Nothing ages you more than a dated acronym.’

He looks so stricken, I throw my arms around him. I love George, even if he is the most melodramatic man I’ve ever met.

‘Well, he says he doesn’t need any friends, he just wants to be with me. It’s romantic.’

‘You mean claustrophobic.’

‘George, please be happy for me,’ I plead.

Breaking apart, I grab him by the shoulders and stare at him with my most deadly serious stare. The one I used to use when we were both students and drunk on cider and George would try and persuade me that doing tequila shots at 2 a.m. whilst listening to the Counting Crows’ ‘Mr Jones’ on a loop was a good idea. Which of course, it never was.

‘I am, of course I am!’