At least, with Freddie being an actor, he’ll have a firm grasp of the concept of fiction, which many don’t seem to have. I’m not talking about your average reader, I’m talking about people like your auntie, who reads your books as if they’re your diary, thinking every character is real and every scene is something you’ve done.

I explain this to Freddie before we get started.

‘And I do like to take inspiration from real life,’ I tell him. ‘So, if I do include anything real, people use that as an anchor for the truth, and jump to conclusions to fill in the blanks.’

‘I totally get it,’ he says. ‘People think I am Edward Eden, that I’m a miserable millionaire who wants to spank them. It’s awful, when people interpret your work like that.’

‘It is,’ I say. ‘If only it were so simple, like a no-frills cosmic ordering, where if I write something down, it makes it so. If that were true I’d be a millionaire, married to Henry Cavill, living in a mansion with at least five dogs – at the very least, my fiancé wouldn’t have cheated on me with my least favourite friend.’

‘Henry and I are friends,’ Freddie tells me.

My jaw drops.

‘He went up for the Edward Eden role too – couldn’t believe my luck, when I beat him to it.’

I can’t speak. I make jokes about marrying Henry Cavill all the time and now I’m sitting in front of someone who knows him.

‘So, technically, I could facilitate all of the above,’ he tells me.

At this stage, Ali would’ve asked for his number. I’m not Ali though, so a self- deprecating joke is where it’s at.

‘I don’t think you can facilitate Henry Cavill finding me attractive,’ I point out.

Hmm, maybe that isn’t a joke, maybe that’s just true.

Freddie just laughs.

‘But if you have Tom Hardy’s number, I’m sure Ali will take it,’ I say.

‘Ali seems great,’ he tells me. ‘Did she come all this way just to support you?’

‘Yes,’ I reply. ‘She’ll insist it’s for the free holiday but… she’s a tough lady, she’s been through a lot. She gets what I’m going through. I’m going to write a book about her one day.’

‘You should. That’s a great way to honour a friend. What’s your author name?’ he asks.

‘Lila Rose.’

‘That’s a great name, for a novelist. Is it a pen name?’

‘It’s my real name. I just got lucky.’

‘So, Lila Rose, tell me about this next novel,’ he says.

He eats a biscotti as he waits expectantly, as if he’s in some sort of fancy movie theatre and I’m a one-woman show.

‘Erm, well, I’ve scrapped it,’ I remind him. ‘But it was about a woman and her fiancé, and they’re going through a tough time while they’re planning their wedding, and then the big day comes along and it’s hitch after hitch. It all works out in the end and they live happily ever after…’