‘And, I’m not.’ Si folds his arms, his lips disappearing into his mouth again. ‘And I’m not straight, either. I don’t know what I am, okay?’

‘Okay,’ I tell him, gently. ‘That’s totally okay, Si.’

‘Is it?’

We stand there as the crowds disperse into old pubs and late-night coffee shops, or hop aboard rickshaws heading across the West End. I don’t know if I should return the hug Si gave me before the second half began; whether we’ve crossed the line from being colleagues to mates. But he’s started to unravel his headphones and places them into his ears.

‘Got the soundtrack all ready for my tube ride,’ he grins, although a little awkwardly.

‘You’re going to listen to Mamma Mia! now?’ I laugh.

‘Nobody’s gonna stop me.’

I give him a wave which he mirrors before heading towards Holborn to catch the Central line and I back off in the direction of Charing Cross for the Northern line southbound. It’s a beautiful night, the perfect temperature for a night-time city walk. I turn before reaching the station’s entrance and keep walking towards the river, stopping once I reach the front of Embankment. My head turns right, up at the Golden Jubilee pedestrian bridge.

But I can’t go there, can’t walk across it.

That would be another first.

The evening of the day I moved to London, Jack had brought me here. We took the tube to Waterloo, walking from the South Bank, opposite where I’m standing now. I remember the sky was orange, with dashes of cloud like tiger stripes. Once we reached the middle of the bridge, Jack told me to look out beyond the National Theatre. Buses, already lit up, crossed Waterloo Bridge ahead; iconic buildings – St Paul’s and the Oxo Tower – stood proud, pleased to be watched. Jack stood behind me, his arms around my waist, and he kissed my neck, my cheek.

‘I love this spot,’ he said. ‘But it’s also overwhelming.’

‘Why?’

‘It’s London in all its glory. I feel like if you can make it here, you can make it—’

‘Erm, isn’t that New York?’

‘Meh. New York, Shmew Shmork! This city is glorious. Tough. Awesome.’

I swivelled around so we were face-to-face. In the near distance, the London Eye and Big Ben framed Jack’s head. Friends, couples, families were passing by, or stopping to take selfies.

‘And have you?’ I asked. ‘Made it?’

‘Darlin’, we’re making it.’

As I remember what came next – a kiss; soft and long and unashamedly public – I rock against the station wall in pain. It’s not painful pain – not the kind you can take a pill for or wince through the ache – but a grand itch, a restless shake, a feeling that’s too much and never enough all at once.

The air is calm, the vibe low-key.

I breathe.