I can’t stop and between the tears I look at him and he seems like he’s in actual pain. His cheeks going red. He moves forward then back on his heels. He must think I’m off my trolley. But he doesn’t leave and there’s something about him that makes me want to just blurt everything out.

‘I’m ok, honestly. I mean, my life’s a mess, but I’m not crazy or anything. I promise.’ Take a big shaky breath.

‘What happened?’

‘It’s hard to explain.’

‘You don’t have to –’

‘No. I want to. It’s just complicated. Here’s the thing Alex – do you have a girlfriend?’

His cheeks go pink again. He shakes his head.

‘I’ve been with my boyfriend for the best part of ten years. Unbelievable. And he wants to get married. He’s wanted to for a while actually. He wants to have kids.’

‘Right.’

‘And I keep putting it off – waiting for the right time. But today there was this new couple who came in, and the man was in a bad way. He should’ve been here ages ago. And the way she held onto him, you know? The way she looked at him. Still. And I thought that’s what it should be like. And if it isn’t – if it can’t be, then what am I even doing? Does that make any sense?’

‘Yes.’

‘But it’s so complicated.’

‘Yep.’

‘And something’s got to change.’

He nods.

I look at him again. His pale eyelashes. He’s probably uncomfortable. Came out to get some fresh air, to be alone, to think, and look what he got instead. I’m calm now. I’m back in control.

‘What about you?’ I say.

‘My mum thinks I’m gay.’

It’s so unexpected I can’t do anything but laugh. Thank God he’s laughing too.

‘I’m sorry. That’s not funny.’

‘It sort of is though. She’s obsessed.’ He runs his hand through his hair and tries to look serious. ‘Not that there’s anything wrong with being gay.’

‘Of course not,’ I say it as if it’s obvious. As if I hadn’t lived half my life thinking the exact opposite.

‘But I’m not.’

‘Right.’

‘So.’

‘Excellent.’

We’re laughing again and I fish out a half-used tissue from my pocket and blow my nose. The rain has calmed down now. A soft patter on the plastic roof. I can hear the music from inside. A murmur of voices.

‘A blackbird,’ he says.

‘What?’

‘Over there. Listen.’