I knew I wasn’t meant to drink ahead of the transfer, and I knew I should have headed straight home to put on slouchy clothes, relax and watch something on Netflix, in preparation for tomorrow, but I had thought about this guy too much in the last two decades to let him slip through my fingers and disappear into an Underground tunnel. I wanted to find out more about him. Maybe it would help me lay the past to rest? Maybe if we talked, it would help me move on. I felt like I was in a TV drama with no control over the plot.

‘Just one drink, then,’ I grinned.

We exited Stockwell Tube, walking in silence for a few minutes, towards the first pub we came across, The Pilgrim.

As we sat down at a table, I remembered the cupcake.

‘Fancy a cake?’ I offered. ‘Although it’s probably slightly battered by now.’

‘Was it meant for someone special?’ He had presumed incorrectly that women didn’t buy themselves cupcakes.

‘Nope – just me.’

‘You’re celebrating something? I could help you celebrate if so?’

‘No, it’s fine,’ I said, clocking the gold wedding band on his left hand and experiencing a sick-to-the-pit-of-my-stomach feeling, to see it in the flesh. ‘When did you get married?’ Somehow it sounded accusatory.

‘A few years ago, in Hong Kong,’ he replied. ‘We met there, although we’re both British.’

‘Expats,’ I said carelessly; again it sounded disparaging. I smiled weakly.

‘We moved back a year and a half ago,’ he continued.

Hearing him use the term ‘We’ so many times, felt like punches to my heart.

‘Are you married?’ he asked. ‘Kids?’

I thought it was pretty obvious by the lack of decoration on my wedding finger. ‘No. Not yet. I’m in a relationship but we’re not at that stage,’ I lied. I immediately thought of Oscar, and how a large part of me wished we were still together; if the circumstances had been different with him, maybe I wouldn’t be sat here right now. ‘To be honest, I don’t see marriage as the be all and end all. I think children are more of a commitment. But I’m not at that stage either, yet. I always knew I’d have my children late – when I’m ready.’ I looked up and caught him looking fondly at me. I’d just told two whoppers because I didn’t want him to wonder why I was still single at 38; he might have wondered what was wrong with me. I knew it was pathetic to feel so insecure.

He appeared to be grinning.

‘What?’ I asked.

‘You’re just the same,’ he smirked affectionately.

‘What do you mean?’

‘You know what you think. You always did.’

‘Well, at 38 I would hope so,’ I remarked, relieved that I had sounded so convincing. ‘What about you – any children?’

‘I’ll get us another drink before we get into this one,’ he said, looking strained.

When he returned with two more large glasses of red wine, he paused. ‘I don’t want this evening to become about my problems.’