I panicked and moved the newspaper higher, hiding behind it like a comedy spy, lowering it occasionally, just to triple-check it wasn’t a dream. Perhaps I was having a sugar dip; sugar dips could do strange things to your vision. I reached for the Lola’s bag, pulling it on top of the Gucci, wondering if I could grab a piece of icing off the cake and eat it, to sort me out. I felt sick. This wasn’t a dream or a sugar dip. Maybe it wasn’t even a coincidence. Perhaps it was meant to be; maybe this was our moment.

As the Tube began to slow down, ready to approach the next station platform, my mind raced. Should I make eye contact? Perhaps I should get up, leave the train at the next stop? Maybe I could move seats? But I felt paralysed, as though I was glued to the fabric beneath me. The doors opened and closed at Kennington. A few people got off, emptying the carriage further, making it easier for him to spot me. I thought how I might wobble if I stood up, so I stayed put. So did he. He had barely looked up from his screen. He had to be well versed in this journey because he knew which station we were at instinctively. As we gathered speed again, my breathing felt a little more under control; it must be his usual route. I stole another glance. It was 100 per cent Jason. He had his laptop screen down then, and was looking above me at some advert, probably about teeth whitening or dating. He seemed lost in thought. Maybe he had noticed me. I was both willing him to look down and praying he didn’t. Perhaps he wouldn’t recognize me. My hair was much longer when we were at uni and I obviously looked older now. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. It was only ten minutes ago that I was imagining having sex with him. It was too much of a coincidence for us to be here now, not even a metre apart. Perhaps if you thought about someone enough, your mind played twisted tricks and made you believe you’d conjured them up, like a hologram. I slammed my eyes shut. I really should get a grip and say hello.

The Tube had slowed into Stockwell when I tentatively dared to open my eyes. My stop. Though my heart was desperate for him, I felt too nervous to approach him. I was too self-conscious to do it in a public place and fearful of what his reaction might be. I resisted the temptation to glance at him one last time – the face I hadn’t seen for two decades. I stood up, holding on to the handrail for support and quickly disembarked the train without looking back. Would I regret this forever? A part of me thought I might. But it was too late now.

The platform was mercifully quiet at that time, just ahead of rush hour, so I was able to make a quick dash through the walkway on to the adjacent Victoria line platform. I moved as fast as I could, without looking back. I found an empty bench-seat and sat down, relieved there were two minutes before the next train so I could steady my breath, get my head together. I was just thinking that a mouthful of cake would help get me back on to an even keel when I felt a light tap on my right shoulder. It was Jason.