‘It’s only a date. But it’s . . . well, it’s tonight.’ In five hours and twenty-four minutes.

‘Fuck me, Gem, talk about making me wait for the punchline.’

‘I’m wondering if I should cancel.’ But the thought of doing that makes the cafe – and this bright Thursday – seem instantly dingier.

‘Who else have you talked to about this?’

‘No one but you. I’ve lost touch with most of the old crowd. Even if I hadn’t, they don’t know about the embryos. So they wouldn’t have the full picture.’

Laura pushes her plate away: she’s polished off the lot while I’ve been baring my soul. ‘Got to admit, your timing is insane. But life’s like that sometimes, right? Everything happens at once.’ She takes a giant slurp of tea. ‘And why shouldn’t you meet your next husband in the street?’

‘Next husband? Now who’s jumping the gun?’ I sigh. ‘I don’t want to get married again, you know that.’

Laura stops eating, drinking or moving. My sister sitting still is unsettling. Is this how she scares suspects into confessions?

‘But I want you to. We all do,’ she says quietly. ‘You deserve somebody to love.’

‘If the treatment works, I will have someone to love.’

‘Whatever happens with the embryo,’ she reaches over to squeeze my hand, ‘I won’t let you stay a lonely widow for the rest of your life. Andrew would haunt me if I did.’

He threatened to do the same to me, when he started a conversation about life after he died. But I shut him down, because I couldn’t admit that he might not make it.

‘So what should I do? This is a guy I’ve met twice. It’s probably nothing.’

‘Probably,’ Laura agrees. ‘And you are a bit vulnerable and hormonal, so be careful. But there will be other guys, sooner or later. You’ve been focused on the treatment, but whether that works or doesn’t, you’ve got too much love to waste.’ She frowns. ‘God, I hope no one overheard what I just said. That’d blow my reputation as the hard nut of Trinity cop shop.’

‘I won’t tell,’ I say, glossing over how touched I am. ‘So should I cancel?’ I check my watch. Five hours and nineteen minutes to go.

‘I will be very cross if you cancel. Treat it like a rehearsal for future dates. But don’t shag him, eh? Your eggs are so ripe they’d explode if you have so much as a cheeky snog.’

‘No kissing. I promise.’

But I can’t pretend kissing hasn’t crossed my mind.

I’ve not been on a date in five years, and everything’s changed. There’s a tonne of advice online, but dating now sounds like such hard work. I hope Dan isn’t planning to take me axe-throwing or sushi-making ‘to break the ice and #makememories to ensure your date stands out in an ocean of dull dinners and drinks’.

Do real people behave like this? I have no one to ask and it’s all my fault. When I got married, my single friends drifted away; and when I became a widow, I let the married ones go too. And even if there was someone around to explain dress codes or bill-splitting etiquette, they couldn’t advise how to explain to someone you fancy that you’re trying to become a mother with your late husband’s baby.