‘Chloe?’ Si asks, clearly wondering why I’m not following him into the dress circle.

‘Sorry. Coming.’

Settling back in our seats, I just want the second half to start. Now.

‘Chloe, can I ask you something?’

I want to say no.

‘Just something that’s been playing on my mind this evening,’ he goes on.

I look at him, waiting.

‘Why didn’t you want to come tonight? Is it because I’m a bit of a – well, er – a dweeb?’

‘A dweeb?’ I laugh, taken by surprise. ‘What is this? Grease?’

‘It’s just you really, really didn’t wanna come, and—’

‘Me boyfriend died. Recently. This is me first trip to the theatre without him.’

Si grabs me and hugs me tight. I don’t reciprocate because of his haste, and I let him hold me as if I’m a wooden plank. He releases me as quickly as he grabbed me and apologises for being unprofessional.

‘It’s fine,’ I tell him. ‘We’re not at work now.’

‘Did you both go to the theatre often?’ he asks, tentative.

I shake my head. ‘Just the once. It’s how we met. At the opening night of a new musical in Liverpool. A friend of mine was playing one of the leads.’

‘Oh, marvellous. What musical?’

My face scrunches up as I admit, ‘The Book of Brexit.’

For a second, I think Si is going to vomit.

‘I heard that was atrocious,’ he says.

‘It was.’

The chatter surrounding us is quite loud, the audience having enjoyed a swift drink or two at the bar, now eager for the second half to begin. A group of women sitting behind us have started singing the title song, each making up their own version of the words and the tune. Si unsubtly sticks a finger in his ear and scratches until it squeaks, making me chuckle.

‘Chloe,’ he says. ‘I’m sorry for your loss. I wish I’d known.’

‘Please, it’s fine.’

‘No, it’s not. I never would’ve guilt-tripped you into coming. The firsts are the worst.’

‘The what?’

‘The firsts.’

I’m lost.

‘My dad passed away two years ago,’ he says, edging closer to me so he can lower his voice. ‘After the funeral, that’s when it began. The firsts. The first birthdays we’d all have to celebrate without him; the first Christmas; the first flipping Wimbledon. And sometimes you’re just not ready to face them, and nobody should force you. We ignored Christmas that first year.’