I then proceeded to spend a full hour celebrating waking up in my own house, eating exactly what I wanted for breakfast while wearing my most comfortable pyjamas and being able to please myself rather than putting all my energy into ensuring that my mother felt appropriately appreciated for all the (unasked for and unwanted) effort she’d have put into creating the kind of birthday that she would enjoy.

I remembered her offer to throw me the party off the Dream List – vodka jelly and Harry Potter – and I shuddered even as I breathed a sigh of delicious satisfaction that today was going to be just the way I wanted it.

And it was. I walked Nesbit to our favourite stream and back, and then helped Ebenezer hang fairy lights and weave ivy across the open-sided gazebo he’d spent the past few days constructing, as well as twining lights around tree trunks and in between branches. He’d also planted autumn flowers in various-sized pots and distributed them around the patio.

At lunchtime, a hire company delivered trestle tables and chairs to seat thirty, along with glasses and crockery. Steph arrived shortly afterwards to help me decorate the tables in long rows with jam-jar lanterns, tiny bouquets of wildflowers and the brightly coloured runners that Aunty Linda had sewn for me.

We set up a drinks table a safe distance from Drew’s barbecue (which he and Nicky had volunteered to man) and pegged down a cheap offcut of vinyl flooring to serve as a makeshift dance floor. That left the food. After much deliberation, I’d gone for the easiest option I could think of. This included placing a mammoth order at Hatherstone farm shop for meat, salad and bread, which I would supplement with nibbles, sides, sauces and other items to create a build-your-own hot dog and burger bar. All the extras were arriving as part of a supermarket delivery later that afternoon, along with the drinks.

It was nearly five when we returned with the farm shop order. I was already starting to stress because I felt like I had a million things still to do, and the guests were due to arrive at seven – one of whom would be my mother.

But that was nothing compared to the lightning bolt of panic that hit me when I realised Nesbit was gone.

I’d left him in the garden – Ebenezer had promised to be around tidying up the flower beds and checking no stray weeds had dared plant themselves in the garden on my big day. Besides, the garden was fully enclosed. When he failed to come bounding up to greet me as we arrived back, my first thought was that he’d been stolen. What a stupid, thoughtless thing to do – leaving a beautiful, friendly dog outside where anyone could take him.