‘I feel like you should come round and do a TED talk about that in our house. Try convincing the twins that their eighth birthday is like any other day.’

‘Isn’t their birthday in October? That’s months away.’

‘I know, but that hasn’t stopped them from lobbying for every bit of the not-even-released-yet Liverpool football kit, an Xbox, a zillion games for the aforementioned Xbox, an iPad.’ She takes a deep breath. ‘Anyway, this is not about them, this is about you. Where’s Miles taking you to dinner? Somewhere fancy, I hope?’

‘The Chambers.’

‘Ooh, that is proper swanky.’ She lowers her voice and leans across the table. ‘You know that’s a proposal restaurant, don’t you? I think I read in the local paper that they get on average two proposals a week.’

My whole body stiffens.

‘We’re definitely not at that stage.’

She gives me a knowing smile. ‘Maybe tonight will prove otherwise.’

My stomach’s started to churn even though I know she must be wrong. We’ve only been together five months.

The coffee machine starts to whirr away in the background and Dad comes back over and takes his seat.

‘What have I missed?’ he asks.

‘Edie is going to The Chambers tonight for dinner with Miles.’

‘Oh, you’ll have to let us know what you think. I was thinking that perhaps we could book it for our Christmas do this year.’

‘Blimey, business must be good,’ says Layla. ‘That’s a step up from last year’s trip to the pub across the road.’

‘I think winning a place on the council tender should be reason to celebrate,’ says Dad.

‘Just because we’re a preferred supplier doesn’t guarantee that anyone will order from us,’ I say. ‘It might be best to play it safe this year and go all out next year when we know if it’s made a difference.’

‘Come on, Edie, I’ve got that dress from Whistles that’s just itching to be worn again. It would be the perfect occasion,’ says Layla, pleading with her eyes.

‘You and that Whistles dress.’

‘Well, if someone would get married already I’d have somewhere else to wear it.’ She gives me a pointed look.

The waitress comes over with a tray and I’m relieved of the interruption until I notice with horror that she’s got an almond croissant with a lit candle in it. She breaks out into a loud rendition of ‘Happy Birthday’ and Dad and Layla don’t miss a beat joining in. The rest of the patrons of the café sing along and my cheeks burn. I try and sink down in my chair, but between Dad singing at the top of his lungs and the pink helium balloons advertising my age, there’s no escaping it.