We walked for a few minutes in total silence. I was feeling exhausted, uncomfortable in my suit and annoyed at myself that I had set myself up in this situation by agreeing to go to the wretched dinner in the first place. I glanced over at Bridget as she wrapped her thick black coat more tightly around herself. I tried to think of something to say to her to break the awkward silence that had descended between us but she spoke up first,

"Why didn't you speak to me all night?" she asked plaintively

"That's the point of those dreadful dinners," I replied, trying - and perhaps failing - to keep the condescending tone from my voice.

"But you talked to Rebecca, and you talked to Horatio. I'll never fit in with your friends."

I noticed that her tone had become slightly accusatory, and tried to think of a way to honestly answer this question without inflaming the situation further. The truth of the matter was that Bridget had completely put her foot in it tonight and she and I both knew it - the fact that she didn't know the extent of her faux pas was irrelevant. However, although I didn't think it fair to pass the telling off that I would doubtless receive onto Bridget, it still rankled and I snapped back,

"Not if you go on calling everyone 'balding, upper-middle-class twits'." I longed to ask her the question that had been plaguing me since she had spoken of my contemporaries with such disdain - whether she thought more highly of me than that. However, coward that I am, I didn't dare for fear that I already knew the answer.

"Well, they were balding, upper-middle-class twits, except for the ones who had hair. I suppose you agree with them that poor people deserve to be poor?" The fact that she compared me to them so directly, the very thing that I had been afraid of, cut me to the quick. If she thought so little of me then surely her finishing the relationship was inevitable, a thought filled me with dread

"Don't be ridiculous." I replied defensively, although the very fact that Bridget had made the comparison meant that the argument had been lost.

"So now I'm ridiculous?" her eyes shone with anger and hurt,

"Yes, tonight you were a little."

"Well, tonight you were an arrogant arse. I think I may have made a mistake inviting you and your folding underpants into my life. Good night." She turned to go but stopped and span on her heel to face me again. Her face was a mask of cold impartiality and I felt sure that she was about to leave me with the parting shot of an order not to contact her again. Instead, the cryptic line that she issued stopped me in my tracks,

"If you had asked me tonight, I'd have said no, anyway."

Could it be that my face and manner was so transparent that she was able to answer the question I had been afraid to ask, and that she saw no difference between me and those pompous windbags that we had been forced to endure the company of. Or could it be that she and I were utterly at crossed purposes and she was talking about something else entirely? Although it might result in my hearing the thing I wanted to hear the least, I had to know. As she walked quickly away from me, I shouted after her

"Asked you what?" She didn't turn around or even pause. I could feel her slipping away from me and shouted again, although the hope that she would turn around had diminished significantly,

"Bridget?" by now she was almost our of earshot and my voice broke slightly in desperation, "Asked you what?"

I could've chased after her, grabbed her shoulder, forced her to listen to me and to talk back, until the matter was resolved one way or another but I felt rooted to the spot. I stood there, staring at her back until she was completely out of sight. Not once did she turn around. I pulled my collar up and turned and walked in the other direction.

As I walked slowly through the darkened streets of London, a light drizzle began to fall, adding another layer of imperfection to my highly unsatisfactory evening. I gritted my teeth in annoyance at Bridget's overreaction, wondering why she seemed incapable of having a civilised adult discussion about anything. I felt sure that had she not run off, the matter would've been resolved all the more quickly, instead of us both sulking like this, having solved nothing.

I believed that I had been wandering aimlessly so when I looked up from the rain-slicked pavement, I was surprised to find myself just a few streets away from where Bridget lived. I wondered how long I had been walking like this as I had covered at least a couple of miles, yet to my mind only a few minutes had passed. All of a sudden the heavens opened and the steady drizzle became a downpour. The neon sign from an all night café turned the water to molten silver as it ran down the drains and I ducked under the awning of the café to gather my thoughts. It would only take a couple of minutes to get to Bridget's from here but I was not ready to see her yet and so stepped inside and purchased a coffee from the elderly lady who stood with a weary resignation behind the counter.

I sat down with my coffee, stirring the milk in absently with a tarnished teaspoon. The gently strumming guitar of an old song was playing softly on the jukebox. I strained my ears to listen and realised it was Joni Mitchell. It suited my melancholy mood perfectly and I stared out at the rain streaming down the window, my chin resting on my hand. After a few moments, a loud and quite disgusting sniffing from behind me interrupted my reverie. I stiffened but ignored it for as long as I could. However, my patience had already been severely tested tonight and after a particularly violent sniff issued from what I felt sure would be a hooded youth, I span round on the brightly coloured plastic seat of the booth I was sitting in to ask if they would mind terribly from refraining from it. My harsh 'excuse me', died on my lips as I was confronted with a lady not much older than myself, her eyes red rimmed and wet with tears. I found my remonstration transform into an offer of a handkerchief,

"Sorry," she said, shamefaced, as she took it. She glanced down at my rain soaked attire before attempting a smile "You look like your evening's been going about as well as mine,"

I smiled back and told her to keep the handkerchief, before turning back to stare downwards into my coffee. I was startled by a movement in front of me and looked up to see the lady sliding into the seat across the table from me.

"I'm Karen," she volunteered, "and I'm a strong believer that if James Bond turns up, even if he is a bit wet, you should at least buy him a cake" she slid a saucer with a slice of cake across the table towards me. I took in the lady, with her tear stained face and frumpy clothes, and decided she was just in need of some company.

"Thank you. Is everything all right? You look a bit…." I struggled to find a non-offensive word to fill the gap at the end of my sentence but she didn't seem to notice.

"Oh yes, I'm fine...you know, keeping on keeping on," her lip trembled slightly before she composed her face into a forced smile and placing both hands on the table looked at me, "and why are you here, James?"

"I took my girlfriend to a dinner with my work colleagues and I'm afraid I made a bit of an arse of myself. She didn't know anyone and I left her on her own all night. Then to top it off, on the way home I insulted her and then let her walk home on her own,"

"And you still want her to be your girlfriend?"

"Yes, of course," I answered, as though this were the most obvious thing in the world.

"Well why are you here then?"

"Why are you here?" I countered, more to take the focus off myself than anything.

"Honestly? Because I accidentally checked my husband's emails and saw he had booked us a skiing holiday. It was one of the nicest things he's done in years. Only according to the email we were meant to be leaving in the morning and yesterday he came home and told me he had to go on a week long conference with his assistant. His young, beautiful assistant. I felt so stupid I didn't say anything – I thought he hadn't told me because he wanted it to be a surprise. I'd packed our children off to my brother's, and you have no idea how difficult that was and I didn't really want to sit in an empty house on my own so I came here. I don't even know how to ski!"

"Oh I am sorry," I murmured, not knowing where to look.

"Don't be, James, not your fault. It isn't the first time Harry hasn't been able to keep it in his trousers. I should know better"

"You know I'm not really James Bond don't you. Far from it, in fact "

"Yes, I know you aren't," she laughed sadly, "for one thing, if you were, you wouldn't be here – you would've gone and got your girl by now,"

"So what are you going to do now?"

"I don't know. I'd leave him in a minute if that didn't mean that I would have to tell everyone what a fool I've been. That and…I love him. Just like you love your girlfriend. And if you don't go and make up with her right now, I'm going to have that on my conscience as well,"

I sensed she felt embarrassed and didn't want to talk about it any more. I thanked her for the cake and wished her well – I wasn't arrogant enough to think I could advise her in any way about her predicament despite my experience in the matter. I ran the last few roads to Bridget's flat and rang the bell urgently. After a few moments she answered and sounded rather inconvenienced.

"Yes, who is it?"

"It's me," I replied into the intercom, before adding, "Mark," in a paranoid afterthought that 'me' might be a little too presumptuous.

"Oh, right, erm, just a moment. I'm on the phone,"

To whom, I wondered. Surely Bridget was not so heartless as to be ringing for a replacement already. I felt my heart pounding in my chest. After what felt like an eternity, her voice crackled over the intercom again

"What do you want?" she asked coldly. I dredged up every ounce of courage I possessed, resolving to take charge of this situation before misunderstanding and miscommunication made it even worse,

"I'd like to come up. You are, after all, my girlfriend," please say you still are, I prayed.

"Even though I shouted at you and called you an arrogant arse?" she sounded doubtful, but not hostile. The sound of her voice made my heart ache and I could remain silent on the subject of my feelings no more,

"Unfortunately, yes. You see, the problematic thing is...I love you," I said in a low voice, the last three words coming out in a rush of breath.

"What?"

"I said I love you," I spoke more clearly and found it easier to say the second time.

"I'm sorry, I missed that again,"

I could hear the laughter in her voice and became aware of the fact that she was teasing me. Also, the fact that she had not told me that the sentiments were reciprocated sent a wave of nausea over my body.

"I said I love you, for God's sake!" I shouted impatiently into the microphone, becoming instantly award of the post-pub crowd of youths behind me laughing at my outburst but for once not caring about my behaviour.

"All right, no need to shout. I'll come down and let you in,"

A moment later she opened the door, her cheeks flushed,

"You might be needing this in the future," Bridget smiled as she held a key out to me. I smiled back and leant in to kiss her.

As we laid in bed together, I felt Bridget's eyes boring into me, as though she were waiting for me to say something. Without opening my eyes, I muttered to her,

"Bridget, you're staring at me again,"

"Sorry," she replied. I looked at her, and leant up on one elbow, still feeling as though she was expecting something from me.

"Listen, I know this evening didn't go exactly as planned, but there was a very important question I wanted to ask you tonight." Bridget raised an eyebrow in interest, her face hopeful. Although I was desperate to ask her if she really did think I was like those old bores, I sensed that this was not the time and racked my brains to think of something else to ask her

"Oh, really?" she prompted

Although Bridget seemed happy again, I still felt that I needed to do something to make up for the way I treated her earlier. I thought back to what the lady in the coffee shop said earlier and took a deep breath. I hoped that Bridget wouldn't think this too forward of me, but after she had shown me her commitment with the key, I was not just going to stand still and do nothing as I did earlier,

"Yes. I've actually been meaning to ask this for quite some time. I've just never really found the right way to put it. Darling Bridget, would you like to go on a skiing mini-break?"

Her face lit up, and she agreed with enthusiasm as an intense feeling of relief washed over me.