The old man says something that I don’t catch, because I am on autopilot now: walking away from him, moving towards the bench. I feel like I’m in a snow globe that’s been shaken violently. I want to stop walking, but I can’t. I have to get closer. I have to know.

They’re sitting together, talking animatedly. I can’t tell if they’re holding hands, but they might be. Daphne is turned away from me; I haven’t even seen her face yet.

And as I get closer, all I can think is: I made this happen. Your life is the decisions you make. Well, this was my decision. The worst one I ever made.

Suddenly Rich turns and looks in my direction. Panic rushes through me, freezing me to the spot. I see him mutter something, and then Daphne looks round too, eyes wide, palms out in a what-are-the-chances gesture.

They both stand up, and in the few seconds it takes me to reach them, my whole body clenches so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t shatter.

‘Hey,’ Daphne says. ‘This is weird. Merry Christmas.’

Her hair is pulled into a ponytail, and her cheeks and the tip of her nose have been brushed pink by the chilly air. She’s wearing a smart black coat I don’t recognise and a brick-red scarf wrapped loosely around her neck. She doesn’t look a day older than when I last saw her. In fact, she looks so beautiful I actually have to glance away.

‘Merry Christmas,’ I say, somehow.

Rich eyes me warily and gives a curt nod. ‘Merry Christmas, mate.’

‘It’s been ages.’ Daphne smiles. Fucking hell, her smile. She hugs herself tightly against the cold wind. ‘So … how are you, Ben? What are you doing here?’ She glances around. ‘Are you by yourself?’

I swallow hard and do everything I can to keep my voice steady. ‘No. Alice is …’ I nod in the direction of the bandstand.

‘Oh, OK. Is she all right?’

‘Yeah, she’s … good.’

‘Good. And hey – congratulations are in order, right?’ She taps her gloved ring finger. ‘Saw her posts on Facebook.’

‘Oh. Yeah. Thanks.’

‘Yeah, nice one, mate.’ Rich gives another unsmiling nod. ‘Congrats.’

He seems obviously on edge – like he’s more than ready to thump me if I come one step closer. But Daff … Daff doesn’t seem fazed. It’s almost like we’re work colleagues who’ve bumped into each other randomly, and she’s obliged to go through the awkward motions of small talk.

I don’t know how I was expecting her to react. I suppose I imagined her breaking down in tears, or screaming at me, or calling me every name under the sun. Whatever I imagined, this is a million times worse.

It’s like she hardly even knows me.