‘Well, what was I supposed to say? “Sorry I’m late for our first date; it’s just that I was thinking so hard about you I ended up in a different town.” I didn’t want to come across as a total psychopath.’

I shake my head. ‘I remember getting so stressed in that pub, waiting for you. I genuinely thought you weren’t going to show. The barman even gave me a free half-pint because he assumed I’d been stood up.’

‘What?’ She nudges my elbow with hers. ‘You told me you’d arrived late as well! You said, and I quote: “Don’t worry, I’ve only just got here myself.”’

‘I was trying to play it cool! I got there bang on time. I think I was even early.’

She laughs and takes a sip of mulled wine. ‘Well. It’s all coming out now. What a revelation.’

‘Yeah,’ I say, ‘and here’s another one for you: I’d already seen the film. My mum dragged me along over the Christmas holidays.’

‘You’re joking?’ She purses her lips in mock-outrage. ‘So why did you pretend you hadn’t seen it?’

‘Because you wanted to see it. And I wanted to see you.’

She sighs and leans into me, linking her arm through mine. ‘So underhanded. So deceitful.’

‘So romantic would be another way of looking at it.’

‘True,’ she says. ‘True.’

We sit for a while in silence, watching the boats drift by lazily on the river. And even though I’m not speaking, my heart is galloping like mad, because that first-date story has set something running, and my mind is suddenly alive with memories of all these fun, silly, happy times in our relationship that I honestly haven’t thought about in years. Ever since Mum died, it’s like all these moments have wilted away, as if they never even existed. And now, sitting here on this bench – feeling that strange warm glow spread right to the tips of my fingers – it’s like a door reopening. It’s like light flooding back in.

Daphne tucks a stray curl behind her ear and smiles up at me. Without thinking, I say: ‘I love you, Daff.’

Because here, in this moment, it feels true. It is true. I love her so much. But what am I supposed to do? I know how we’ll be ten years from now – bitter, unhappy, arguing the whole time. So how can we be right for each other? When it comes down to it, aren’t we just as wrong as Harv and Liv?

‘I love you too,’ she says, nuzzling into my shoulder.

‘Daff, can I ask you something?’

‘Yeah?’