Smiling, I ran my finger lightly over his image while butterflies danced in my stomach. This weekend was going to be the most important weekend of my life. Karen was right. By the end of it, I had to be 100 per cent convinced that Scott was being honest with me. I absolutely believed he loved me and wanted to marry me. The unknown was whether I believed he’d finally leave Fiona. Wanting to do it and actually doing it were two very different things. He hadn’t managed it so far and the stakes were so much higher now that he was a dad. And, of course, I had to be sure that, if we did try again, I could forgive him and I could trust him because, if I couldn’t, we didn’t stand a chance.

Feeling nauseous, I put my phone down. If only there weren’t children involved. Scott told me last night that he didn’t think Fiona would be bothered about him ending their marriage because she’d got what she wanted out of it – children – but it wasn’t that straightforward. Even if, like he said, she only loved him as a friend and was prepared to let go of him as her husband, he was tied to her as the father of her children. Would she really be prepared to bring up twins on her own? And would he be prepared to be a holidays and weekends dad? The Scott I knew would want to be fully hands-on and that was the right thing to do. But where did that leave me? Discussing that was going to be one of the most difficult parts of the weekend.

For tonight, we’d keep the conversation light over dinner but I’d take it steady on the wine so we could talk back at the flat without alcohol clouding things. Or that would be the plan if he turned up. He was fifteen minutes late and I’d had no texts from him although, if his train was running late and he was now on the underground, he’d have no signal.

Half an hour later and there was still no word. Stomach churning, I rang, I texted, I messaged. No answer. Was my ghost back?

The restaurant was full and there was a queue. I felt like everyone was staring at me, willing me to vacate my table. I asked one of the waiters if I should leave but he insisted I stay.

Two hours I waited. Two long, painful hours during which my imagination took me to hell and back. I imagined illness, accident, death. I pictured everything from emergency surgery on the twins, through to him and Fiona curled up on the sofa laughing at me for thinking Scott Hastings was a real person and how I’d fallen for his lies yet again.