Lisa was in a bad mood. She’d got a job interview in Manchester and was facing a long train journey. OK, so she was grateful for the interview – working for a new women’s magazine – but she loathed train travel with a passion.
It was Saturday night. I re-read the party invitation in my hand; drink, DJs and naked twister, eight till late. I assumed it was ironic. Little did I know what lay ahead that night. I arrived at the party alone. The friend who was supposed to be coming with me had had a last minute
I felt her before I saw her. You know that sensation that you’re being looked at? The prickle at the back of your neck that makes you feel uncomfortable for a reason you can’t quite place, until you make eye contact and see it wasn’t your imagination. When I realised what was happening, I smiled