I savour my last mouthful of arancini, devastated to be nearing the end of my starter, but excited for my main course. I feel as if I’m eating for fun now, and for the flavours, rather than because I want to get fat out of spite – because that would teach Daniel a lesson, right? (Wrong, it absolutely wouldn’t.)

‘So, why did you decide to come here?’ I ask. ‘To Valentine Island…’

‘Why did you?’ he replies, putting my question back to me.

‘Erm, because I’d already paid for it,’ I tell him. ‘And because I wanted to get away, fast, and this was already booked for the day I just so happened to be wanting somewhere to escape to.’

‘That checks out,’ he replies. ‘For me… I guess, I wanted to escape too, but I didn’t really know where to go. I thought about trying to find a private island, but I just wanted peace. I didn’t want to be all by myself.’

‘I can just imagine you going full Tom Hanks in Cast Away,’ I joke.

‘Well, thankfully I wound up here, with you as my Wilson, rather than being stranded by myself, trying to crack open coconuts.’

I laugh.

‘Why did you choose here specifically though? Didn’t you know it was for couples?’

‘I did, actually,’ he replies. ‘It’s sort of like hiding in plain sight. I figured, everyone here is going to be too loved-up to even notice me.’

‘How’s that working out?’ I ask.

‘If I wear my sunglasses and keep my hair messy, I don’t know, it’s like most people can’t quite place me, because they only know me from the movie. But then there are people like your, er, ex-friend, who can recognise me instantly.’

‘Can I get you more drinks?’ the waiter asks.

‘Yes, can I have a porn star martini, please?’ I reply.

Freddie orders a Peroni.

‘I can’t drink too many cocktails,’ he tells me. ‘They’re too sweet.’

‘If you’re not actually a barman, how did you get so good at making them?’

‘I used to be a barman,’ he tells me. ‘Right up until I landed the Eden role, I was still working bar jobs around my small roles. The small roles don’t really pay.’

‘And the big roles?’ I ask casually, jokily playing it down.

‘Yeah, they pay better.’ He laughs.

‘What’s the first thing you bought?’ I ask curiously. ‘I’ve always wondered what the first big thing I spent money on would be, if I came into real money.’

‘Ah, it’s nothing cool,’ he says, fidgeting with his cutlery as his cheeks flush.

‘Oh, now I really want to know what it was,’ I say excitedly.

My mind races, wondering what uncool thing he could’ve bought with his first big pay cheque. Perhaps he’s a model-train enthusiast, or maybe he collects something not all that exciting, like stamps or coins.

‘You sure you want to know?’

‘Oh, I’m so sure,’ I reply.

‘I paid my parents' mortgage,’ he confesses. ‘Not exactly rock ʼn’ roll, hmm?’