‘I’m just worried that I like him because he’s a bit older and wiser or something.’

‘Why are you worrying about this? Oh, wait … it’s because it’s your birthday soon. You always get really weird and intensely introspective around this time of year.’

‘Do I?’

‘Yeah, you have a massive freak-out, every year. But really, you’re doing just fine, babe.’

‘Thanks, I feel good at the moment, actually. I finally feel like I’m in the right lane. That following my gut has ultimately been a good thing.’

‘I’m proud of you,’ Zeta tells me, before carrying on with her hoovering. My phone calls with Zeta were never about anything crazily exciting, they were just normal everyday chatter – and I began to realize that they have been the extra piece of Sellotape holding me together all along. The little, mundane, lovely bits of life.

My phone flashes with Bea’s name whilst I’m out having a cigarette break at work. I stump out my cigarette and pick up.

‘I’m excited for Friday!’ she says, while telling one of her kids to be quiet. ‘Thirty-three, eh! Girl, you’re getting old.’

‘I know. Me too, excited to see you. I was worried you were calling me to say you couldn’t come.’ I laugh nervously.

‘I knew you’d say something silly like that. Birthdays have always made you so paranoid, ever since you were little!’

‘God, you’re right. Zeta was saying the same thing. They really do turn me a bit loony, don’t they?’

‘Well, I’m glad you are actually celebrating this time and not just hiding away in a cave like you usually do. I’m looking forward to meeting Marcus!’ Bea lets out a little squeal.

‘Yes, I can’t wait for you guys to meet,’ I say, sort of meaning it. My nerves are fighting to take over.

‘And, Ol, it’s lovely to see you so happy again,’ Bea says in her motherly tone.

‘I’m feeling good. Even though thirty-three sounds really, really old. Did you know Jesus apparently died at thirty-three?’

‘Oh shush. I reckon you’ll outlive all of us, to be honest.’

Statistically I probably will, I think, if I don’t have kids.

‘Ha. Do you think Isla will come?’

Bea pauses. ‘I hope so.’

‘Me too. OK, I better get back to the grindstone, see you later Bea …’

‘See you then, Ol. Can’t wait. Mwah.’

Cecily offered up her house for the birthday party, which I really appreciate, especially as her garden is the biggest. The space is big enough for a medium-sized marquee, which is lucky as the weather is predictably rubbish when the big day rolls around. Bea has brought a wheelbarrow full of booze and huge packets of ice and she and Cecily got up early to put bunting all around the garden, which has letters spelling out ‘Olive’. Fairy lights are strung up too, ready to twinkle later. It does look amazing.

The kids are now on the trampoline singing ‘Happy Birthday to You’ in a very high-pitched, out-of-tune way. I look around and realize that the fourteen brilliant people in this garden are the only people I need. Zeta, my friends, Colin, some .dot colleagues, and then some additions: Marcus and some of Marcus’s pals who I’ve started to get to know recently.