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part.
    ‘Well,
I’m
going off message…’ I heard Lisa say, and left them to it.
    It may have been Smithies or the pervasive low mood, but by nine o’clock the last hangers-on were leaving, despite the lure of a free bar.
    ‘No drinking stamina, this lot,’ bellowed Smithies, in his pseudo drunkard’s slur. ‘You should have them better trained.’
    ‘They weren’t in the best of spirits.’
    ‘Ah yes,’ he said, draining the half pint of beer he’d been carefully eking out all evening. ‘I told you the timing of this was questionable, didn’t I?’
    I was about to give a spirited and indignant response when I spotted Lisa hurrying towards me, carrying my jacket.
    ‘We must go,’ she said, without giving a reason.
    ‘So soon?’ replied Smithies, apparently crestfallen.
    ‘Yes, we have to.’ She steered me firmly towards the door.
    Once outside, she rummaged in her bag for a cigarette.
    ‘Bloody hell—had to get out of there before I killed that scumbag Smithies. And he was moving in on winding you up too.’
    ‘Thanks for rescuing me.’
    ‘Go somewhere for a last drink?’ she suggested.
    ‘And you tell me
I
put away too much booze,’ I reminded her, as we strode purposefully towards Daly’s.
    ‘Oh never mind that now – you can always cut down next week,’ she said. ‘You’ve had a tough day, and I haven’t made it any easier for you. But that lousy bonus wound me up. Anyway, I’ve got it all off my chest with Smithies now.’
    We pushed through the throngs of Friday revellers to the bar, and ordered a bottle of Pinot Grigio.
    ‘Hope you didn’t go too much over the top,’ I said, with little optimism. Didn’t she realise her gung-ho approach would reflect badly on me?
    She probably did realise, because she rapidly changed the topic of conversation to Isabelle.
    ‘That self-satisfied little cow was acting a bit glum, wasn’t she, despite her double promotion?’
    ‘Guilty conscience.’
    ‘Sorry, I’ve lost you.’
    ‘Oh keep up, Lisa. She kept mum about Goodchild’s mistake, didn’t she? That’s how she got the promotion.’
    This had only just occurred to me as a rationale for Isabelle’s muted reaction, but the more I thought about it, the more sense it made.
    ‘Oh I doubt that’s the reason,’ said Lisa quickly.
    ‘But you told me she knew…’
    ‘I was speculating, that’s all,’ she replied, cutting me off abruptly. ‘In fact, I’m thinking she and Smithies are having it off, and
that’s
why he promoted her.’
    I’d forgotten that the same idea had previously flashed through my own mind, but it still seemed just as ludicrous now Lisa had suggested it.
    ‘No,’ I said.
    ‘They were in the archived file store together the other day, which was strange.’
    Maybe not so ludicrous.
    ‘I saw them in the canteen, and he gave her the eye in the brainstorming meeting.’
    ‘There you go, it’s obvious,’ said Lisa, with a splendid disregard for the paucity of the evidence. ‘But he’s so gross though. How could she do it? And Ryan’s so cute…’
    ‘Ryan—cute? You wouldn’t say that if you’d been a fly on the wall in his one-to-one meeting today.’
    ‘Aw, cut the guy a bit of slack. You can understand him being sore, plus it must be so annoying to have a girlfriend as perfect as Isabelle.’
    ‘Isabelle reminds me of the posh girls at school,’ I said, using up most of the wine in pouring out two generous glasses.
    ‘I wouldn’t know,’ she laughed. ‘There weren’t any posh girls at my school. Anyway, you’re posh too.’
    If only she knew the truth. At least Lisa never had to pretend she was anything other than a chavvy girl from Basildon.
    ‘That’s what you think,’ I said, laughing hollowly.
    Lisa stared at me, puzzled.
    ‘I hate these cryptic little comments you keep making about your family. Wish you’d come out with it and tell me the whole story.’
    ‘It honestly isn’t important.’
    ‘Aw—come on—if it wasn’t