The private view was in full swing when I arrived. The gallery was humming with middle class voices and the Cava flowed freely, posing as champagne. It was an unusually cold night for November but that did not seem to have affected the turn out.

I had been invited along by David and had accepted because I was hoping we might begin a relationship, so I scanned the crowd for his face as I entered. I couldn’t see him so I had a cursory look around the work while keeping a hopeful eye out for a waitress bearing a tray of drinks. It wasn’t really my kind of thing, garish abstract daubs that reminded me of the story about the emperor’s new clothes. The conversations I overheard backed up this theory.

“Amazing energy, don’t you think darling?”

“Definitely, and such vibrant colours. I feel she is really saying something with this one, don’t you?”

Looking at the price tag of £1500 I thought she was probably saying she needed to pay the mortgage, but what did I know? 

At least I looked as if I fitted in, I had certainly made an effort. I wore my new skirt that looked like peacock feathers and shimmered beautifully when I walked, with a soft, white cashmere sweater. I had got home from work in time for a shower and spent a bit of time on my make-up – the end result wasn’t bad, I thought.

The artist, Patricia Hodges, was a friend of David’s but I had never met her. It didn’t take long to work out who she was as she was clearly enjoying being the centre of attention and was rather drunk. 

“Do you really like it?” I heard her gush to a well-dressed couple. “I feel I have got into my stride these days, it’s just flowing out of me.” I thought it was possibly flowing into her as well as she looked as if she was having a bit of trouble walking on her implausibly high heels. 

I turned to see the smart little waitress coming past me with a tray of drinks and accepted one gratefully. I made my way through the crowd, trying to look at home while looking out for David. It had been quite a casual invitation, issued at a dinner party the week before, and I hoped he was going to turn up. I couldn’t remember the last time I had met anyone whose company I enjoyed so much. Our hosts and fellow guests might have thought us rude if they hadn’t suspected the possibility of romance, but everyone loves to be a matchmaker. I suspect they were imagining saying “such a lovely couple, of course we introduced them” at parties of the future. And let’s be honest, David was everything I was looking for in a partner – single, solvent, intelligent and not bad looking. I had recently celebrated my thirtieth birthday, if celebrated was the right word, and I was tired of being single.

As I turned the corner I spotted David across the gallery, deeply in conversation with a young woman. He looked just as appealing as I remembered.

I made my way towards him trying to show enough interest in the pictures I passed not to look like a complete philistine, but not so much that I was in danger of falling over or bumping into anybody. The conversations had moved away from the paintings now and I picked up on different snippets as I wound my way through the crowd.

“House sale fell though, absolutely, after all that time. So inconsiderate …”

“Liposuction is always the last option, obviously …”

“Is there any more wine about?"

“Thinking of holidaying in Cornwall this year, does reduce the carbon footprint so.”

David looked up as I approached. “Beth! How lovely to see you again.”

His smile lit up his face, transforming it. I had a very good feeling about this evening. 

Then I looked towards the woman who had been talking with David, as she turned to face me. Her expression was inscrutable, but I recognised her straight away. There was no one in the world I wanted to see less.

“Beth, meet Maria. We work together.”

I held back, wondering if she would pretend she didn’t know me, and if this might be for the best.

“Oh but we were at school together, isn’t it a small world? Fancy running into you again after all this time.” She smiled the coldest smile that I have ever witnessed.

“You look very well, Maria,” I said weakly, as if flattering her would change anything. 

“So what do you think of Pat’s work?” asked David, oblivious of my discomfort.

“It’s rather avant garde for my taste, to be honest, but there is something exciting about it. I should really learn more about art, visit galleries more often.”

“I know, it’s easy to forget how lucky we are living in London, and not take advantage. I can’t remember the last time I went to the theatre, can you?”

“Not unless you count taking my nephews to the pantomime, no,” I admitted.

Maria couldn’t let that slide. “I saw a wonderful play at the Riverside studios last week, actually. Groundbreaking stuff. It only ran for three nights though so you have missed it now.”

“That’s a shame,” said David mildly, oblivious of the atmosphere between Maria and myself. “Beth, come and meet Patricia, she is so much fun.”

I might have felt nervous meeting the artist in any other circumstances, but I would have happily walked into a cage of lions if it meant losing Maria. I liked the confidence with which David made his way across the gallery, polite to everyone but walking like a man who knew where he was going.

“David!” she shrieked, embracing him. “Are you having a marvelous time? And who is this lovely girl?”

“Hello Patricia, I’m Beth. Congratulations, fabulous show.”

“Thank you, darling. There are quite a lot of red dots appearing, better keep that bubbly flowing! At least I may be able to keep my head above water for a while.”

So it is about paying the mortgage I thought. Well, we all have to make ends meet somehow.

Patricia was perhaps a better businesswoman than I had given her credit for. David worked for a specialist art publishers, and the exhibition was linked to a launch of a book which featured Patricia’s work. 

“When we get out of this zoo, let me buy you both a drink. We’re going on to the Dog and Duck. You will come, won’t you?” she appealed.

I had hoped for a hasty exit, and a romantic Italian bistro where I could get to know David better over a bottle of Chianti, but guessed that wasn’t going to happen. I also had a horrible feeling that Maria would be part of the pub crowd.

Of course, I was right. There were at least twelve or fifteen people from the show gathered around the old-fashioned bar, and Maria was among them. She didn’t speak to me again but I could feel her antagonistic presence like a stone in my shoe. I did feel guilty about what had happened, but it was nearly fifteen years ago. I so wished she didn’t work at the same place as David.

Meanwhile I tried to shut her out of my mind and concentrate on David. I have found that when you go out of your way to make the early stages of a relationship work it somehow goes wrong, the man sitting opposite you can’t quite fit the person you want him to be. It could be almost anything: he is passionate about football or theatre and can’t talk about any other subject, he can’t speak without mumbling to the point of incoherence, he has an irritating physical habit such as constantly stroking an invisible beard. I am expect it is the same for men, although perhaps less as they are more distracted by weighing up their chances of getting you into bed. But with David it wasn’t like that at all, I felt as if I had known him for ages.

“So, how did you come to work in this field?”

“Ah, a sad story really, Beth. I love to draw and paint, I always have, but after working at it for a good number of years I realised that my work was never going to be any good.”

“Isn’t it frustrating to work with other people who didn’t come to the same conclusion?”

“Not really, to be honest. I am damn good at my job, and I don’t think I could have been happy doing something that I was mediocre at. And I get to look at some great work, well, most days.” He whispered that Patricia’s work wasn’t his favourite, which made me laugh and I liked the intimacy involved.

A couple of people he knew came over to join us and we got drawn into a couple of separate conversations, but I loved the way that he kept glancing over to me, smiling. I knew this was not going to be the last evening we spent together.

It was nearly a week before I found the business card. I use the same handbag most days but I am very slack about clearing it out, usually waiting until it is so full of junk – old train tickets, pens, tissues, scrappy bits of paper with print-outs of Google maps – that I can no longer find anything. I had a meeting the next day and wanted to look organized, so I upended it and began to sort through the clutter.

At first I thought the business card belonged to David as it the logo of  the publishing company was prominent, but Maria’s name stared up at me. I turned it over and saw handwritten ‘Call me, we need to talk.’

Damn. I had hoped Maria would just vanish somehow, but I could see that wasn’t going to happen.

I managed to put off dialing the number for a few of days, but after a couple of sleepless nights I realised I had better face it. A short phone call later I had arranged to meet Maria that evening in a bar in Camden Town.

It was a quiet bar for Camden, even on a Tuesday evening, and there were only a few old men propping the bar up when I arrived. I couldn’t see Maria, and wondered if the wisest thing would be to have something non-alcoholic for all of about five seconds, before ordering a large glass of red wine. I chose a quiet table and pretended to read the book I was glad I had remembered, although I don’t think I absorbed a single word. 

I looked up to see Maria walking towards me, holding a drink that could have been mineral water or something more alcoholic. My stomach churned and I wished you could still smoke in pubs, although I hardly smoked anymore.

I waffled on, apologising for not finding her note for so long and my poor handbag management. She cut me off, getting straight to the point.

“I just want to know why you ruined my life.”

I took a large gulp of wine, oh God, this was even worse than I thought.

“What?” I said stupidly.

“You lied about me.”

Of course, she was right, I knew I had been a complete cow.

“What can I say? It’s a long time ago. I had a massive crush on Danny Tempier but I think he was far less interested in me than I was in him. We had been out a couple of times – well you know all this, we were friends – but then he just stopped calling me. I was heartbroken in the way that only teenagers can be, considering I hardly knew him.” I know I am bright red, I haven’t blushed like this for years. I feel fifteen again.

“I’m sorry Beth, but what the hell did that have to do with me? Why did you lie?”

“Because you kissed him,” I hissed, hoping nobody could hear two grown women talking like stupid kids. “Nadine told me.”

“Ah, I thought it might have been something to do with that bitch, she always wanted to get between us. Did you never think to ask me if it was true?”

“I didn’t … um … I don’t know …”

“Well, ask me now.”

“What?”

“Ask me.”

“Maria, OK, did you kiss Danny?”

“I swear to you I never did, never wanted to, and probably never will.”

“Sorry. I am so sorry, I should have asked you. I always worried that it had something to do with you leaving.”

“It did.”

“It was because of the note, wasn’t it?” 

I had passed the note to Nadine in history because I was so furious with Maria, but it got intercepted. I was unlucky, most of our teachers would have ignored it, but Mrs Hatchett was a friend of Maria’s mum, so she took my comments about Maria sleeping around seriously. Maria was taken out of school a couple of weeks later, at the end of term.

“Can you imagine what it was like for me? My parents were devastated, you remember how old-fashioned they were, and I don’t think they ever believed me. Mum shouted and cried a lot, which was horrible, but dad was worse. I don’t think he made eye contact with me for at least a year, and would walk out of the room when I walked in.

I don’t know how they found that boarding school for me, but it was vile. Maybe they liked it because it was as far from civilisation as you could get, the closest thing to putting me in a nunnery. Or perhaps they appreciated the hideous gothic architecture that made it look like a prison, and they wanted me to be punished for turning out so flawed.

It was so cold in winter that ice formed on the insides of the windows, but we still had to shower in cold water each morning. I used to wear three pairs of knee socks every day – trousers weren’t allowed obviously – but I still got chillblains.”

“I feel terrible.” I take another swig of wine. I really don’t want to hear this, but she went on.

“All the other girls had made friends already, so nobody wanted to be friends with me. I kept a calendar under my bed, marking the two years off, day by day. I spent my evenings in the library, reading books that smelt of damp, nursing my tepid mug of watery cocoa. 

One of the teachers really had it in for me, and because I had come from a comprehensive with a completely different syllabus, she had lots of scope to humiliate me for my ignorance. I can still hear her voice, telling me I would end up in a factory, that I was a stupid slug.

One night it all got too much, and I crept up the staircase to the roof. I stood right on the edge, and I thought about jumping off, ending it all…”

I thought I might faint, I was evil. What had I done?

“I am so sorry, if there was anything I could do to turn the clock back…” Tears pricked my eyes.

Maria made a weird gurgling sound, and I was terrified that she was going to crack up right before my eyes and it would all be my fault. Then the gurgle turned to a howl, and to my amazement she was laughing. It was a huge, warm belly laugh which sounded familiar, but I couldn’t place it for a minute. Then I did, it was the way she had laughed when we were still best friends.

“You silly slapper, where do you think I went, back to the time of Charles Dickens?” She wiped a tear from her eye. “You did get me into a lot of shit, but boarding school was OK. I ended up with 3 A grades, and there was no way I would have got them if I hadn’t been swapped. And it was a bit draughty, but I did make friends.”

I began to laugh too, and once I started I couldn’t stop. I felt as if a lump of guilt was dissolving and I felt younger than I had for years. 

“When you have got over your hysterical fit, I think you owe me a vodka. Ice and a slice, with slimline tonic please.” She handed me her empty glass.

We had several more drinks before we staggered out of the bar, giggling over nothing as we walked down the frosty Camden pavement. Christmas trees sparkled at us from people’s windows, and I realised I hadn’t felt happier for years. 

Things never did work out with David, but I am still glad I met him. Now my 40^th birthday is looming on the horizon I am wondering what was so bad about being 30, but at least I am looking forward to seeing Maria tonight.