But at the same time, the thought of never tackling them at all scared me even more.

As I sobbed, Steph squeezed around the table and wrapped her arms around me, and a minute later a sweaty-faced Nicky burst in and came to join in the hug. A text beeped from Aunty Linda to say that she was thinking of me, and I knew that even if I did resign from Team Tennyson, I would never be alone.

I still might not have done it, I might have let enough time pass, enough excuses take hold that I ended up slipping back into old habits, if Mum hadn’t sprung another surprise on me that evening.

‘So, we need to start planning your birthday,’ she said, eyes glowing with anticipation.

‘We’ve got months yet.’ My thirtieth birthday was in September. ‘I haven’t even decided what I want to do.’

‘Well, you can’t leave it until the last minute!’ Mum laughed. ‘If we’re going to give you a proper celebration, there’s a lot to be done.’

‘I might not want a big celebration.’ I wriggled uncomfortably on the side of the sofa that was sagging and worn, because I’d been sitting in the same spot for so many years.

‘Pshewee! I know you’re going to want this!’ Mum stood up, doing a sort of dance as she dramatically reached into her back pockets and then whipped out two tickets. ‘Much Ado About Nothing is on at the outdoor theatre at Wollaton Hall a week after your birthday!’ She beamed. I wasn’t smiling. ‘But on your actual birthday, we’ll have a party. Fancy dress, maybe a retro theme from your childhood, one of your favourite books or something, and a cocktail bar. We could even borrow one of those dance videogames, that’ll be fun.’

‘What?!’

‘I know! Don’t say your mother doesn’t know you!’

My stomach muscles hardened into a ball of anger. ‘I won’t. But I will say that my mother has been snooping through my stuff!’

This was not a coincidence. I had never once mentioned to Mum that I wanted to do any of those things. We never did things like that, because we always did what she wanted: days out by the seaside, craft fairs, toasted teacakes in cafés with net curtains.

I saw the flash of guilt in her eyes before she snapped back to overly jolly bewilderment. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

An outdoor theatre and a not-yet-updated Harry Potter-themed party, along with a cocktail bar and the Just Dance videogame were on my Dream List, safely tucked away in my journal, hidden in my bedside drawer.

‘You’re not even going to admit it?’ The anger had dissolved into bone-weary exhaustion. My decision on Valentine’s Day had been right. I couldn’t do this any more.