‘That’s so true,’ I say. ‘The first drink you get sick on will always be undrinkable. Mine was peach schnapps. Still can’t go anywhere near it.’

She laughs, wrinkling her nose. ‘Peach schnapps. You must have been a classy kid.’

‘Oh yeah, big time. We were about fourteen, I think, down the park one Friday night, and Ross Kennett turned up with a bottle of it that he’d nicked out of his mum’s cabinet.’

‘Classic Kennett,’ she says.

‘Exactly. Textbook Kennett. I think I only had three shots, but even now, just the smell of it makes me feel sick. I must’ve thrown up underneath that slide for about fifteen minutes straight.’

‘Well, that’s a lovely image, Not-Naked Ben. I’ll keep it with me always.’ She takes a sip of her pint. ‘So, hey, you never answered my question before – is acting actually what you want to do?’

‘No, no, not at all,’ I say. ‘I just did this for a bit of a laugh, really.’

When she asked me this question first time round, I vaguely recall launching into a long, boring spiel about how what I really wanted to be was a writer. I think I trotted out the standard monologue I’d memorised for when trying to impress attractive girls, which was full of painfully crowbarred references to Franz Kafka.

This time, though, I decide against trying to conjure up some non-existent self-belief, and ask her a question instead.

‘What about you?’ I say. ‘Do you want to get into theatre stuff?’

She shrugs. ‘Well, I was only helping out tonight as a favour, really. But yeah, I do enjoy it. I don’t know, though … I’m definitely not an actor, and I don’t think I’d be much of a writer or director, either.’

‘Gun-handler?’ I suggest. ‘Last-minute script-finder?’

She laughs. ‘Yeah, exactly. Or maybe … I don’t know. Maybe producer? I like the idea of being someone who helps to make good stuff happen, you know?’

I nod, and the difference between us at this age suddenly seems staggeringly clear. I was a pretentious knobhead, full of unrealistic dreams and unfounded confidence; Daff was modest, humble and obviously bound for success.

She shoots me another one of her wide, bright, amazing smiles – the kind I see so rarely in 2020. I don’t know if this is the exact same discussion we had first time round – probably not – but the general feeling I’m getting is the same. That fluttering excitement at the knowledge that I’d definitely met someone special – someone I’d still be thinking about long after this conversation finished. But also, a strange sense of ease and comfort – like I’d known this person for years, and conversation just flowed effortlessly between us.

She says something else, which I don’t quite catch, because as I glance over at the bar, I see a face I recognise.