An almighty bang of drums throws us upright in our seats and the band blasts the audience with the entr’acte as our attention is thrust towards the stage. I listen to the mashup of Abba songs half-heartedly, waiting for the curtain to rise, thinking about what Si has just told me. The firsts. Jack and I never got the chance to make enough memories to warrant a whole year of firsts. We never made it to my birthday. Is this a good thing? Because it sure doesn’t feel good. When Mamma Mia! finishes tonight and I tick the theatre box, what’s next? A restaurant? A holiday? Fuck me, I’ve already done the first pub and the first overnight stay, both with Beth last Friday. And I’ve been to the Sainsbury’s Local without him almost every other day. What happens when I’ve completed all the firsts? Am I forced to move on? Like an expired parking ticket?

I rest my hand on my belly.

Yesterday, in the Sainsbury’s Local, I stared at the home pregnancy tests on the shelf. All I had to do was take one. But I reached left, added a tube of toothpaste to my basket instead. It’s always good to have extra toothpaste. And it won’t give a negative result.

Don’t be over. Please, please. Don’t.

I’m sucked into the performance. The mother, the daughter. Si was right. It’s all about the second half, and I listen to the songs and the words and the winner taking it all, the loser having to fall, and oh, I sob. I’m not alone, of course. Tears stream down Si’s pointed little face. When the happy ending inevitably comes, the whole audience jump to their feet to boogie to ‘Waterloo’ and it unnerves me. I preferred wallowing in my safe, dark haven, but Si won’t let me get away with it and I’m yanked up, pressured into dancing like a middle-aged woman around her handbag. I even sing along, shocked that I know the bloody words.

‘Thanks again, Chloe,’ Si says as we follow the exit signs along with hundreds of others, many of whom are still singing Abba songs. ‘You could’ve ripped up these tickets and who could blame you?’

‘No, thank you. It was a good “first”. I have to admit I enjoyed it. And Jack, well – he would’ve hated it.’

Si beams.

‘Well done, you,’ he says.

We edge towards the street, stuck between a hen party and a group of Japanese tourists.

‘We’ve talked a lot about me tonight,’ I say, ‘but I’m intrigued. What’s going on between you and Mr Belling? Drew?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Doesn’t sound like nothing.’

‘He thinks I’m gay.’

‘Oh.’ I’m stumped. And embarrassed for presuming.