‘You’ll know when it comes on,’ he says, leaning back into me. He puts his hand on my waist and it sends shivers down my spine. ‘Let’s go and get a drink.’

Once we’ve got drinks, we settle at a table on the edge of the dance floor and we’re instantly mesmerised by the scene in front of us. It’s already busy with kids flossing and dabbing and doing whatever other dance moves that I am not cool enough to know. Then there are groups of parents that clearly came in for the happy hour cocktails and are still happy all these hours later.

‘You know, this place looks pretty much the same, with the lights down low.’

‘I know. That would have been us once upon a time strutting our stuff,’ I say, gripped by a sudden wave of nostalgia.

‘Oh, your and Soph’s choreography, how could I forget?’

‘What? At least we had moves, unlike you.’

He laughs and memories of his awful dancing give me an idea. I look over at the dance floor and back at Joel.

‘Oh no. You’ve got that look in your eye that Soph always gets, and I don’t like where it’s going.’

‘I’ll tell you exactly where it’s going.’ I rise to my feet.

‘No, no, I am not going on the dance floor.’

‘Come on, Joel, don’t take yourself too seriously,’ I say, proud of myself as I quote my note-to-self email.

He holds my gaze for a second and then he laughs and takes a swig of his beer and gestures for me to go first.

I walk over, trying to find a spot in the middle.

‘Let me take you back to a man called Joel, who liked a cardboard box,’ I shout.

I start throwing shapes like I’m at a nineties rave.

‘You know, I used to do those moves ironically.’ His hands are on his hips and he’s not joining in.

‘Shutting the car door,’ I yell, jutting my hips out. ‘Basting the turkey.’

He laughs at me, before he finally starts to move.

‘You’re missing out the best ones. Doing the mowing.’

He pulls an imaginary lawnmower cord before placing his hands on the imaginary handlebars and strutting around me in a circle and I begin to laugh.

‘Changing a lightbulb,’ I call out and Joel gives me a thumbs up. It’s a little scary how naturally they’re all coming back to me.

‘Watering the garden,’ he shouts, shaking his wrist across his body.

I burst out laughing, watching him in horror, and in between breaths I spurt out, ‘Stop! That just looks so wrong.’

He stops immediately and I notice he looks a little embarrassed.