"Hopefully your lack of 'The Horn' is just a temporary blip," Abby says brightly as we push our way into the still bright evening and start making our way to the pub where the weekly quiz is held. "While we're on the subject of those, actually. . . How are you feeling about seeing Mitch?"

I groan. "Oh great - so he's definitely coming along tonight?" She nods, a grimace twisting her own face - she's never been a fan, even for the brief period where me and him were a "temporary blip".

"Unfortunately!"

I'd been desperately hoping for a Mitch-free night. It's been a few months since I last saw him, and it was . . . Well, it's all been a bit awkward, to be perfectly honest. He seems to have created this scenario in his head where I'm his psycho ex, still obsessed with him, and he has to tiptoe on explosive-laden eggshells around me. It's sometimes hard not to almost find myself playing into that part, as if it's actually true. (It's fun to make him uncomfortable.)

And it's not true at all. In actuality, I met Mitch on the rebound after my break-up with my only real boyfriend Tam. Tam cheated on me (which was upsetting but not really surprising in retrospect because he was also a ginormous red flag - although he had managed to hide that fact for a significant part of our relationship) and I had already started hate-fucking Mitch while the debris of my relationship implosion was still settling around me. We both really liked arguing, and having sex, and then arguing again, so it went from what should only ever have been a one-night-stand to a slightly more regular "angry fuck buddy" arrangement.

Neither of us were really in the market for a relationship so we would usually meet up at the quiz Abby had become a regular at once a week and then go home together afterwards. This pattern continued for a good few months, but I didn't ever feel like I really knew Mitch. And I didn't really want to because the bits I did know already put me off. It seemed he hated everything I liked and vice versa. I know they say opposites attract, but we genuinely couldn't have a conversation without fighting and, as much as I love(d) sex, I couldn't spend my whole life shagging him just to shut him up. I mean, I have a job!

(Actually, that job part is up for debate right now. But we'll leave that little sideshow for another time.)

Anyhoo . . . About six months or so into our very informal arrangement, we were between rounds in the pub quiz when Mitch turned to me and said awkwardly "Louisa, we need to talk."

I knew I must be in for a serious discussion because he used my full first name; I actually wasn't sure until that point that he even knew what it was. Bemused, I allowed him to lead me away to a quiet corner of the pub.

"It's not you," he began, scratching distractedly at his hair, which looked like he'd towel-dried it in a hurry. He often came straight from the gym to the pub quiz. He spent a lot of time pumping iron while eyeing up his own biceps in the mirror and documenting the entire process on his thirst-trap of an Instagram account - yet another reason why we could never have a future. "It's me."

Wait - was he giving me a break-up speech? I barely stifled a giggle. This could be fun.

"Go on," I said, smiling encouragingly into his eyes. He frowned, clearly confused.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I'm not sure where you're going with this?" I prompted him. I was quickly realising, however, that he thought saying "It's not you, it's me" was the break-up speech in its entirety. What an idiot.

Spell it out, Mitch, come on. USE YOUR WORDS!

I let my question drift into the space between us, trailing off into silence. And then I sat back and waited for him to fill it. Sometimes, it's fun to toy with the emotions of others. Or is that just me?

He chewed at his lip. "I think . . . We should end this," he said eventually.

"End what?" I asked curiously.

"Our relationship, of course," he bit out, exasperation now overshadowing any awkwardness. And I decided it was time to put him out of his misery.

"You thought this was a relationship?" I found myself laughing. "Mitch, we've been shagging once a week, if that, for a couple of months. We barely have a civil word to say to each other if we're not in bed. Or in a bathroom cubicle or up against the wall in an alley, or wherever else we've chosen to have sex. I'm not even sure if this falls under the parameters of a situationship, and I definitely don't think it warrants any sort of break-up scene."

You'd think I'd punched him in the throat. His eyes bulged as I stood up and sauntered back to the table. I later heard him muttering in Abby's boyfriend's ear: "I had to end it; she was getting too keen." Ric had caught my gaze and rolled his eyes at that, which says it all really - he doesn't suffer fools gladly.

Anyway, I've been largely avoiding the quiz since our "relationship" (snorts) ended. If I'm at a loose end and fancy attending, I'll check with Abby or Ric beforehand to see if Mitch is going to be there, and I'll only make an appearance if he's absent. But tonight is different. Tonight, nothing can stop me going.

Tonight is special.

And Abby has no idea.

"There's still time for you to back out," she tells me now as we wind our way through the pretty west end streets.

"Not a chance!" I say firmly. Too firmly, probably, as Abby shoots me a confused glance. "I mean, it feels like we haven't hung out in ages, so I'm not cutting it short because of that eejit."

Abby grins. "Good. I was hoping you'd say that."

Of course, Mitch is the first bloody person I spot as we walk into the pub. And, naturally, we immediately lock eyes, because why the fuck wouldn't we? Every interaction between us over the past year or whatever since we stopped shagging has apparently been designed with "uncomfortable" as its core theme.

Yet . . . Tonight something seems to have changed. Because, rather than cutting his gaze away and looking slightly shifty in the unique way that only Mitch can, he smiles instead. Wide and genuine, out-of-place on his snarkily handsome face.

And then he waves at me.

What the actual fuck? Has someone stolen his identity; taken over his body? Has he had a personality transplant? I'm so confused.

"I've saved you a seat, Lou," he tells me as we approach. He sounds uncharacteristically eager. And it's not just me who thinks so. Ric is frowning at him. Ric's best friend Beth is mouthing "What the hell?" at me. And Abby is giggling nervously in my ear again.

See? We all - as a collective group - see it. I'm not imagining it. I'm not hallucinating.

Mitch is being weird. 

And nice.

Something is up.

As I tentatively slide into the seat beside him, he immediately offers to buy a round for the entire table.

The group's bemusement increases tenfold at this gesture.

This is unheard of. Mitch is notorious for doing pretty much anything he can to get out of buying a round. At some point, I really should ask one of the others why they actually keep him around. Mind you, I can't really judge their taste in friends when I actually went as far as letting him inside my knickers for several months.

"I don't understand what's happening," Beth says quietly.

"Is he dying?" Abby mutters. Ric bursts out laughing at that, pulling my sister in tight to his side and pressing an affectionate kiss to her cheek.

Observing that tiny gesture of love somehow squeezes at my heart, and I'm not quite sure what emotion is driving it. But I don't like it. My feelings have been all over the place recently - the roller coaster was once stationary but now it rarely stops, taking me on a wild ride from happiness to sadness and back at a speed I'm not particularly comfortable with. Yesterday, I found myself crying at the (happy) ending of a Hallmark movie. The fact I was even watching a Hallmark movie in the first place was even weirder.

Maybe Mitch isn't the only person who has had a personality transplant, I realise as I watch him place a massive G&T in front of me. I'm not actually sure who I am anymore either.

And this revelation is extremely unsettling.

What's going on with our boy Mitch???😱