My own life began eight days after my fourth birthday – the day I found out I was adopted. I can’t remember how it felt before that, just being Evangeline Nash, a child who had no idea she had been given away by the one person who was supposed to cherish her the most, a mother whose name I don’t even know. In the quietest moments of the night, in that pause before the dawn arrives, I still search inside and try to find myself – the person I should have been.

‘There she is!’ David exclaims as I walk towards him. ‘You look lovely – what a nice dress.’

‘It’s a jumpsuit,’ I say, lifting one leg to the side like a tightrope-walker before accepting his enthusiastic hug of greeting. ‘They’re flattering, but an absolute nightmare when you need a pee.’

Stripping off in the ladies’ loo aside, it made a nice change to wear something other than leggings and a sloppy jersey today, so I’m touched that he has noticed the effort. It has been a good long while now since I have ventured out for lunch, and I even went so far as to apply a smear or two of make-up.

We spend the first few minutes discussing the mundanities of David’s life – his car MOT and the ongoing battle between the neighbour’s dog and his rose bushes. I remark on the ludicrous number of Christmas decorations that are up in the pub, and we deliberate over whether to order the Swan’s famous macaroni cheese or its triple-stacked BLT from the menu. I don’t argue when he offers upfront to pay, even though it stings to accept. I will get back to a place where I am earning again, but at the moment, it still feels a long way off.

‘So,’ he begins, when we both have a Diet Coke in front of us, ‘your big date is tonight, isn’t it?’

‘It is,’ I agree. Then, seeing him arch an inquisitive brow, ‘Why are you making that face?’

‘I’m just happy for you, poppet, that’s all. Billy is one of the good guys.’

David often makes these proclamations, telling me his opinion rather than asking me for mine. Anna told me once that he can’t help it – before he became a full-time author, he spent so many years teaching that his mannerisms and speech patterns were altered.

‘Well, don’t get too carried away,’ I inform him, allowing myself the flicker of a smile as I picture Billy. The idea of being on a date with him later is sending my mind down a helter-skelter, but it’s too late to cancel on him now.

‘It’s just a drink,’ I remind David. ‘Not a Happily Ever After.’

‘Yes, of course, I know that. I don’t want you to feel that I … Well, that is to say … What I mean is …’