‘Now, we are going to be doing another ice-breaker called “Conjoined Twins”. I want you all to pretend you are twins joined from the waist up. You must move together and even speak together in unison if anyone speaks to you.’

Oh my god. I am dying. I link arms with Marcus and we both burst out laughing.

The good news is that absolutely nothing could be worse than having to pretend to be a conjoined twin with a hot man when your armpits are really sweaty on a day when you have forgotten to wear deodorant. The bad news is that Iris wants us all to go to the bar downstairs afterwards, so I can’t go home and scream into a pillow with embarrassment. I have to ride it all out. A group of around seven of us go for a drink. We all order pints and it feels really good to have bonded with a group of new people: people who don’t know the real me; people with whom I’ve only had a stupid laugh; new people who aren’t sharing their emotional baggage.

Iris comes back with a tray of beers and plonks herself down next to me, her earrings jangling.

‘That was fun. Cheers! To Iris, and everyone who made it until the end!’ Marcus holds his drink up in the air and we all clink in unison.

‘I’m still dying inside, honestly. This has put me so far out of my comfort zone,’ I reply.

‘You were great.’

‘Thanks.’

There is an awkward silence, and even though we have been ‘breaking the ice’ all afternoon doing cringe exercises, sitting here exchanging small talk suddenly feels rather personal.

‘How did you end up here then? Doing this class?’ I ask.

‘Oh, my kids bought it for me as a birthday present. I think it was a sort of joke present, but I’ve actually really enjoyed it.’

I surprise myself by feeling a bit gutted to hear about his kids. Having any sort of romantic feeling for a guy right now could not be further from my mind. Of course he’s married, with kids. I obviously read too much into it – I don’t know what counts as ‘flirting’ these days anyway. So out of practice.

‘You?’ Marcus takes a sip.

‘Oh, you know, escaping my life by trying to learn how to become someone else for a bit,’ I say, also taking a sip of beer. ‘One big cliché.’

‘Of course. An improv course reeks of a midlife crisis,’ Marcus replies. ‘Sorry, quarter-life crisis for you.’

‘And, midlife crisis – for you?’

‘Well. Do you want the long story, or short story?’ he replies.

‘Hmm, what about a medium-length story?’

‘OK. Well …’ He pauses. ‘I am … living the second chapter of my life, I suppose. I am … enjoying myself. Part one feels over.’

‘I like the sound of that,’ I reply.

‘My wife died, ten years ago now. Ten years ago tomorrow, actually… But, you know, I’m finally feeling like my old self again. The loss will always be there, of course, but I’ve finally come out the other side.’ We both smile gently at each other. I do like a man who can open up unprompted. A rare breed.