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Omens, portents. A fire alarm went off just after the Eightsome Reel finished. Everybody — standing at the bar, sitting at tables, trudging wearily off the dance floor — just looked at one another with that Oh, come on look, but then the staff started ushering everybody outside.

‘Aw, blinkin heck,’ I said — very restrainedly, I thought, ‘we’re not even going to get to sit down!’

‘Nearest fire exit’s behind us,’ one of the guys pointed out, so Jel and I and the other six of our Eightsome survivors group found ourselves shambling down a brightly lit service corridor. I was arm in arm with Jel, who was wincing with each step. She got me to stop briefly, leaning against me as she slipped her shoes off. We hobbled the rest of the way to the fire doors at the rear of the hotel.

‘Great, the bins,’ Jel said with a sigh, surveying the less than lovely backyard full of industrial-size refuse bins we’d emerged into. She put her shoes back on.

‘Chaps? Chapesses? Think the assembly area’s round the front of the hotel,’ our group know-it-all announced.

‘I’m sitting here,’ Jel announced, lowering herself delicately onto one of three red, sun-faded plastic chairs, which looked like they were there for when the smokers amongst the staff wanted a fag break.

I tried Ellie’s phone, but it wasn’t on or had no reception. Everybody else was wandering off towards the assembly area in the car park round the front.

‘Go, go,’ Jel said, when she saw me hesitating. ‘I’m fine. See you back in there.’

The best part of two hundred and fifty people were swirling about the car park. A lot of them had brought glasses and bottles outside with them. The evening was pleasantly warm, the air was clear out over the sands, and the water was dark blue with pink clouds piled just over the horizon. The party had just moved outside. It helped that it was so obviously a false alarm, with no smoke or flames visible coming from the hotel, so everybody was confident we’d be back inside again soon to continue the fun.

I moved around, said hellos, shook hands, high-fived, and air-kissed various cheeks as I meandered through the press of bodies. My blue-suede shoes attracted a few comments, almost all of them favourable. I got a beery one-arm hug from Murdo Murston, a nod from Donald and a smile from Mrs M.

‘Aye, we’ll make a Murston out of ye yet!’ Callum said, gripping me in a full-on bear-hug and trying to get my feet off the ground, but failing. He smelled of Morgan’s Spiced Rum and I could see hints of white powder in his patchy moustache. That was a surprise in itself; Donald was known to disapprove strongly of the boys partaking. ‘We’ll make a Murston out of ye yet!’ he said again, in case I hadn’t heard him the first time. Even so, he still liked this phrase so much he repeated it a few more times.

There had been a little light joshing over the last couple of months about it maybe making more sense for me to take Ellie’s surname rather than her to take mine, or — as we’d made quite clear — what would be happening: us keeping our own names and double-barrelling our surnames for any children. Probably. Light joshing in Murston terms involved what would look to most people like serious intimidatory bullying, but — with Ellie’s help — I’d stood up to it pretty well, I thought.

A big cheer went up from the crowd as Josh MacAvett arrived in a taxi, fresh off a plane from London; I stopped to say hi, then went on trying to find Ellie. I accepted a couple of sips of wine and beer from happy revellers, and a toke on a joint from Ferg, skulking with some other smokers by some interesting topiary near the top of the steps that led down to lower garden terraces.

Which was where I caught another glimpse of electric blue, and walked down and along a terrace and found Ellie in a clinch, basically, with the guy she’d been dancing with earlier. I recognised him now; he was the guy she’d gone out with before Josh MacAvett, the guy I’d always suspected had been her first lover, the guy who’d taken her virginity. Dean somebody. Dean Watts. That was him.

They were on a terrace one level further down, standing, his hands cupping her backside.

I think my mouth fell open. I stopped, stared. So far, they hadn’t seen me. The way they were standing, Ellie with her back to me, he was the one most likely to spot me. I just stood there, crossed my arms.

What the fuck, was all I could think. What the fuck?

It was weird; I felt sort of hollow, emptied out, all dredged of feeling. I felt I ought to feel shocked, horrified, angry and betrayed — I wanted to feel those things — but I didn’t. My main reaction just seemed to be: Oh.

And the aforementioned, What the fuck?

I could hear sirens in the distance.