‘Great, I’ll give you your card and present then. I love you.’

‘Love you too, Mum.’

And with that I hang up, pop my phone in my bag and get out my keys.

And immediately walk into a wall. Well, not an actual wall, but a human wall.

‘Sorry!’

I look up. And into a face I recognize. His jawline is burned into my memory for all time. It’s Colin, the hot boiler man. I am vaguely aware of the group of friends surrounding him, but his face has me transfixed. A noise escapes my mouth. Part shock. Part awe. Part, a large part, awkward. Eventually I remember to speak.

‘Colin!’ It comes out a few decibels higher than normal and a lot louder. ‘Bea.’ I place my hand on my chest. ‘You fixed my boiler a while ago.’ I make the shape of a boiler with my hands.

Luckily his friends have moved on. I force my hands down and hope the urge to mime has stopped.

‘I remember.’ A man of few words.

‘Right. Yes. Well.’ Accidentally bumping into people you vaguely know isn’t something that happens frequently. And when it does happen, most of the time you should pretend that you don’t recognize them, so both parties can move away without any awkwardness. ‘Thank you for that, by the way. My showers are now the perfect temperature.’ I giggle. This conversation is an uncomfortable one to be part of, even for me, an expert in awkwardness.

‘No worries. If you ever need anything else, let me know.’ He then smiles and holds it there for a long time.

One of his friends shouts at him. ‘Come on, you bell end!’

‘I should go. We’re off to the pub round the corner.’

I raise my eyebrows and nod. I have never and will never go there. I’m not a neat freak, but it looks extraordinarily unclean.

‘Will I see you there later?’

‘Oh, no, I can’t.’

‘Busy?’

Shamefully free, actually, but I don’t want Colin to know that. I draw attention to my bag. It looks big enough to house a laptop. It doesn’t. But it does currently house some lovely 280-GSM linen-effect card in aquamarine.

‘Work.’

‘Well, if you change your mind or, like I said, need anything else, let me know. You’ve got my number.’

An hour later and I’m frozen to the spot, staring at my phone.

It is my birthday. I should treat myself.

I look down at the takeaway menu from the Chinese round the corner. The number of dishes I’m thinking of ordering is a tad excessive.

But then an errant thought pops into my head, and once it’s there I can’t get it out.

I reach for my phone.

Hey. Are you still at the pub?

I hit send. And off it goes. To Colin.

Oh God, he might not have my number. So I send another.

It’s Bea, by the way. With the boiler round the corner.

To save me from watching my phone and getting increasingly anxious, I leave it on the side while I go to the loo.