‘Are we too late for the Library Lady’s stories?’ one girl asked as she rushed past.

‘No, you’re just in time.’

I couldn’t resist dawdling long enough to see Irene Jenkins perched on a cubed seat, her knees up near her elbows as she turned the page of a giant picture book about bugs.

As she read the first page, the words coming out in a nervous croak, two of the younger children gasped.

‘See, I told you they do dead good voices!’ Hudson said, nudging the boy next to him.

Irene glanced up, blinking a few times before resuming the story, now deliberately using a reedy, feeble tone.

But I didn’t hang about for long. For some reason, seeing Irene with the children made me think of Mum, so I shook off the ache of painful memories, set my mind on the future and turned my feet towards my new home.

According to the No-Man Mandate, I had to put the same effort into each item on the Dream List as if I was doing it with my Dream Man. That meant preparing for my romantic night in with a long shower, extensive hair removal and a ‘radiant glow’ face mask. I did a quick clean of the house, changed the bedsheets and slipped into my new outfit, including lingerie I’d ordered online earlier that week. Given that this was the first time I’d ever tried non-supermarket underwear, I’d bought two differently sized sets of the tiny, lacy knickers and matching bra, one black and one dark red.

Deciding the black set was a better match with the charcoal jumpsuit, I curled my hair and applied a heavy layer of dark grey eyeshadow and swiped a glossy layer of Plum Passion across my lips.

Finishing off the look with the silver heels I’d worn as Steph’s bridesmaid, I tottered downstairs to start prepping.

An hour later, I had the lights down low, a moody ballad warbling and a table set for one. Having Nesbit trailing me around the kitchen as I wrapped dates with bacon and pan-fried two pieces of salmon (because Bigley Tesco Express didn’t sell a single fillet and I thought Nesbit may as well benefit) helped me feel a tiny bit less weird, but I still wasn’t sure if going to all this palaver for a night in alone was empowering or just plain pitiful.

By the time I’d drunk a large glass of wine and eaten the bacon canapés, I’d ditched my impractical shoes and switched to a girls’ night in playlist and had decided that I should do this every Friday night. Well, every Friday night I didn’t have anything else to do, anyway. Hopefully at some point I’d have some friends to hang out with at the weekend, as per Dream List item ten.