The Revels and beers have sharpened our appetites, so we stroll through Covent Garden hand in hand in search of a place to eat. Daff has the flowers poking out of her backpack like some strange alien antennae. I’m carrying the award for her, occasionally holding it up to random passers-by and announcing, ‘Rising Star coming through,’ before she slaps my hand down. As we wander towards the river under the never-ending cascade of Christmas lights, everything feels absolutely right with the world.

It strikes me suddenly that this is the complete opposite of our last theatre trip together. That was a total and utter disaster.

It was on September 25th, 2020: Daff’s thirty-third birthday. We’d gone to see one of her clients’ new plays at the Lyric Theatre. It was only a few weeks after Marek’s wedding – after I kissed Alice (or Alice kissed me) in that photo booth. My head was still swimming with that moment: guilt and regret mingling with daydreams of what life would have been like if Alice and I had actually got together. All mixed in with a side helping of dark thoughts about my non-starting career, and even darker thoughts about Mum. I got sulky when Daff left me on my own to go and chat to Rich at the after-show drinks, and when it was just the two of us later, at dinner, things got even worse. We spent the entire three courses snapping at each other, and at the end of the night, Daff sighed heavily as we stood up and said, ‘Well, thanks, Ben. This has definitely been a memorable birthday.’

Looking at her now as she bounces alongside me, so happy and carefree, it’s impossible to imagine that we’ll turn into that couple one day. And it might be the alcohol swimming to my head, but I can’t help thinking: maybe I should just forget that we will. Maybe, just for tonight, I should forget about the future, and all the shit that will come with it, and try to make the next few hours as perfect as they can possibly be.

When we get down to the Thames, we find that a festive-themed cluster of food vans have been set up next to Waterloo Bridge. I buy two large turkey baps packed with smoking hot stuffing and cranberry sauce, and two paper cups full of steaming cinnamon-laced mulled wine.

Daff and I sit on a bench eating and drinking, huddled together for warmth, and even though we’ve been going out in this reality for nearly five years, it honestly feels like a first date. A really, really good first date.

I tell her about waking up this morning and seeing Harv and Liv in our kitchen, and how worried I am about it all going wrong between them. Daff just shrugs and says, ‘Yeah, well, what can you do? Have you actually said anything to him?’