He can see the queue for the gate up ahead, and he frenziedly tries to search her out. She’s not in line, waiting to board, and he can’t see her in the seating area either. He’s got this wrong. This was all assumption. He assumed she was flying to Salt Lake and assumed it was from this airport and he assumed it was at this time. He actually doesn’t know any of this for certain. Bugger. He feels defeated. He has no plan B. He hadn’t thought of anything beyond getting to the airport. He searches for a hint or clue in the recesses of his mind about what he should do next. Somebody else takes his photo.

‘Hey, I’m not who you think I am,’ he says, shaking his head. ‘I get it all the time, but honestly, what would I even be doing here if I was him?’

The middle-aged man with a camera phone looks apologetic.

‘Sorry,’ he says, gesturing to a woman standing nearby. ‘My wife – she’s a big fan.’

Duke waves across the way at her. ‘Hey,’ he says. ‘Merry Christmas.’

He can’t get a handle on what he’s supposed to do next. She’s not here. She’s nowhere to be found. So … That’s it?

He starts pacing up and down near the toilets and food outlets. He’s messed this up. He’s hotfooted it across the country, made out to his cab driver like he’s some Hollywood hero from one of his own movies, making one last big declaration, and as it turns out, Evie had been right from the very beginning. None of this – life, or love – is an Ed Sheeran song or a mad dash through an airport. He bought into the fantasy of it, and that makes him a bloody idiot. He sinks down the nearest wall to sit on the floor.

Well … he tried.

That has to count for something.

‘Duke?’

It’s Magda. Magda! Her best friend! Magda will know what to do! Magda might even be with her!

‘Is she here?’ he says, in response.

‘Evie?’ she asks. ‘Yes. She’s just paying at the bar. Oh my God, thank God you’re here. You are here for her, right?’

‘Yes!’ cries Duke, scrambling to stand up.

He spins around and watches Evie as she leaves the bar, shouting a thank you over her shoulder. When she sees him, she stops walking, stares, looks at Magda, then back to him.

‘Evie,’ he says, taking a step forward, and the ten steps it takes for her to reach him feel like seven eternities.

‘Duke,’ she says, coolly. ‘Hello.’

‘I’m going to …’ Magda says, looking between them. ‘Go.’