THE WORK PARTY from HELL

Eva Verde, author of Lives Like Mine

It was 2003 and, after a summer flitting between my bedsit and Matt’s flat in Essex, love hovered between us as a possibility. I was therefore thrilled to be my boyfriend’s plusone on his work ‘jolly’ to Barcelona. Though the trip was peppered with work, for two 5-star nights and a decadent dinner party,

I’d cope. I was keen to meet his colleagues, but mostly I wanted to make him proud. Thanking God for my overdraft, I bought a bright suitcase and a tiny bag from a knock-off designer outlet. Unused to fancy events, borrowed Gucci mules eased my nerves and desire to impress strangers. I oozed glamour. Mariah has nothing on me, I thought.

But, at the airport, there was instant hostility from Matt’s colleagues’ wives. Their smirks mocked my new suitcase, which I realised, mortifyingly, was EasyJet orange. On landing, Matt was whisked to a meeting, but I wasn’t invited shopping nor to lunch. Instead, I wandered the hot streets and steeled myself to buy an ice cream, using actual Spanish. The act of self-sufficiency restored my excitement, and I realised I was pleased to have swerved a day with the Mean Girls.

Matt and I arrived to the event that evening holding hands, which felt secure and romantic. It was a dazzling affair; correct to dress up for. We entered the glitzy restaurant, and a waiter dipped his head as I selected a flute of champagne. A pyramid of whitebait was presented, deep-fried curls in tempura. I copied how Matt ate them, performing the same trick when the oysters appeared, entirely new to me, as well.

The boss’s son came up to me, talking of Matt’s ex, casting her as a goddess, and me into the shadow of myself beneath this false glamour: the girl in a damp bedsit who worked minimumwage admin, never fitting in. When he asked if I could still taste the ex on Matt’s body, my starry night blurred with hurt. Matt’s rage – hot expletives in defence of me – was an instant comfort.

I learnt about the pre-trip office gossip. How, on good days, I was Matt’s ‘cafe-con-leche hottie’, less-acceptable phrases on the bad ones. Later, after secret tears in the posh loo, the boss groped my bum, said I needed someone with class – someone wealthy, like him. But class is more than hierarchy and the boxes that we’re assigned by society. Excess was everywhere, but class was nowhere. I was worth more. And if Matt thought so, too, we had to act.

It felt symbolic to abandon my new clothes at the hotel – apart from the Gucci mules, of course. We bought flights home, lighter by the second. Matt resigned, his decision cementing all that I hoped would come of us. We moved in together, Matt started his own business. By standing up for me at that car-crash of a party, Matt fast-tracked our love and intentions. He was respectful and supportive then and now, many years and dogs later, he still is. Lives Like Mine is out now

“After secret tears in the restaurant’s posh loo, my boyfriend’s boss

GROPED MY BUM”