Page 13 of The Gin Lover's Guide to Dating

Without waiting for a response from Tom, I take off for the safety of the toilets, ignoring the collective murmur of ‘Is she OK?’ behind me.

Shortly after my rather inelegant bolt for the loos – and having had a very serious word with myself – I rejoin my friends, determined that not an ounce of how I felt only minutes before will resurface. Even though I’ve only been away for several minutes, I notice the temperature has dropped a couple of degrees and the light is just starting to fade.

‘How you doing?’ Tom’s big brown eyes search my face. ‘You didn’t look too good there. I knew that would be hard to hear.’

‘About the jobs? Not at all.’ I wave my hand dismissively. ‘I couldn’t give a donkey’s arse about that. Just shouldn’t drink on an empty stomach.’

‘Are you sure?’ Tom asks. ‘You went a bit grey. Or maybe it was green—’

‘Congratulations on the promotion, by the way.’ I give him a big squeeze of a hug, forcing him to change the subject. ‘Well deserved. I’m so pleased for you.’

‘Thanks, Liv.’ Tom’s face breaks into a grin. ‘That’s big of you. I am pretty chuffed.’

‘So you should be. It’s a great opportunity.’ I smile at him, then look around. ‘Where’s Anya gone?’

‘She had to nip off to meet some old uni friends,’ says Tom. ‘She said to tell you she’ll be back by nine.’

I scrutinise Tom for a second. He seems perfectly genuine, but in my current state of hypersensitivity, I detect just the slightest hint of discomfort in his voice. He’s lying to me. Anya’s run away, just like Stella.

‘Sure, no problem.’ I look him straight in the eye, smiling. ‘I’ll catch her later then.’

We’re joined by some colleagues from the Business Development department – a welcome distraction from the growing awkwardness – and the evening starts to liven up even more. Although, in many ways, it’s just another work night out, I can’t shake the developing feeling of being an outsider. Eventually I decide I’ve had enough and make my excuses.

‘Aww, Liv, why are you leaving so early?’ Tom gives me his big puppy dog eyes, but I know he’s secretly relieved.

Anya hasn’t yet reappeared; I’d put money on it that she won’t until I’m gone. And who am I to stand in the path of true love? Anyway, she can’t avoid me forever. I’ll speak to her soon enough.

‘Yeah, sorry.’ I pretend I’m all disappointed. ‘I’ve got an interview tomorrow, so I really must go and do some prep.’

‘That’s great news!’ Tom seems genuinely excited for me. ‘Why didn’t you say before? Whereabouts?’

‘I’ll tell you when I get offered the job.’ I give him a little wink.

‘You sly dawg.’ Tom teases me. ‘Well, keep in touch. Good luck!’

I give him a hug, and diligently make my way round the rest of the group, noting that Stella disappears to the bar the moment she clocks that I’m saying my goodbyes.

As I walk towards Fountainbridge to catch a bus, a cloud of uncertainly hangs over me like an unwanted cloak in the developing dusk. A night of awkward beginnings, middles and ends. Keep in touch? Really? From six different people who I consider to be good friends. That’s something you say to a relative you meet once a year at a family event; someone from your past who you meet in the street and have no intention of ever contacting. It’s what you say to a colleague whom you know, despite your best intentions, you’ll probably never see again.

I’m a colleague. Is thatallI am to them? Surely not. We’re all friends. Great friends. It’ll all settle down and we’ll be back to normal – I’ll just have different shop talk to share.

‘You’ll no’ fit in, so don’t bother yer backside tryin’.’

Please… shut… up.

By the time I arrive home outside my Bonnington apartment, I’m starting to shiver from the chill air that’s moved in from the Forth estuary. I let myself in and kick off my high heels, grab a glass of water and my iPad, and collapse on the sofa. For a while I just lie there, going over the evening’s events in my head. It really didn’t turn out how I’d hoped at all: being treated like an absent friend; Stella behaving like a paranoid lunatic; bumping into Sharon, whom I hadn’t expected to even be there; Tom’s news bombshell; and then Anya doing a runner.

The latter, in particular, has riled me. Anya’s my closest friend at work; she’s probably my closest friend full stop. Why the hell has she not had my back more over this? If it had been the other way around, I would have made damn sure she didn’t walk into the same situation without being pre-warned. But she’s only got one thing on her mind right now: Tom. That’s what men do; they mess with your head, even when things are good – which is precisely why I give them a wide berth these days.

I decide, as Anya’s allowed her brain to turn to mush, I need to make the first move and give her an in. She probably didn’t mean to not tell me. I retrieve my phone from my Dior handbag and tap out a text to her.

Hi Anya. Was disappointed I didn’t see much of you tonight. Don’t worry about not telling me about the work updates. I know you’re totally loved up and thinking of nothing else. Not that I understand it. :) When you good for a catch-up? X

I hit send, then unlock my iPad, navigate to the login page for the email account I’ve set up specifically for my job search, and type in my details.

Surely there must be something there by now. I applied for the first lot of jobs a week ago: both online and through recruitment agencies, and not a word from any of them yet. Why is it taking so long to get even an acknowledgement?

As my inbox loads, I see that I have three new emails. Result! I feel a wave of relief. I don’t like stringing my friends along, letting them think that I’ve made more progress than I actually have. That said, they haven’t been particularly forthcoming themselves. I click into the first response from a recruitment agency I submitted an application through.

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