‘Wow fucking wow!’ says Sophie, almost spilling her beer from her plastic cup as Tom Farley’s lyrics echo through the giant speakers and fills the vast space of the arena over wild screams and applause. The audience jump from their seats. I take a gulp of my beer too as the most surreal moment I’ve ever experienced unfolds before me. There he is before me in three versions – in real life beating on a guitar and twice more as giant images of his face fill two huge screens at each side of the stage. My heart beats faster. He hasn’t changed a bit to look at. Still the same touchable, tousled hair, still the dimples, still the same turquoise, almond-shaped eyes, still the indescribable sex appeal, still the same man I—

‘Jesus Christ, he is something else!’ says Sophie, interrupting my train of thought.

‘I heard that!’ says Harry from beside her. ‘But I get what you’re saying. He’s a cool dude for sure.’

Jack stands to the other side of me, his hands drumming a beat on his legs to the rhythm of the song, and I link his arm, wanting the feelings of betrayal I have within me to go away.

I’m not doing anything wrong by being here, am I? Tom doesn’t even know I’m here. If he’d cared to, he could have emailed me and invited us all along, but he didn’t. I’m very much a part of his past as he is mine. It would be different if I’d planned it, or if I’d set this up as an excuse to see him again, but it was all Sophie’s idea. It’s just a night out and it’s what we need before Jack goes away tomorrow. I’ve nothing to feel bad about. Jack is enjoying himself. We all are.

But no one is enjoying themselves as much as Tom Farley is on stage and when we take our seats again for a slower number, my heart rate finally settles and the rush of excitement that rippled throughout the whole crowd seems to simmer a bit.

Now I get to look at him properly and inhale this moment. I think of the day we said goodbye in Howth, how we used to talk on the phone for hours from my little flat in north Dublin where me and Kirsty lived. I think of how I watched him for years on smaller stages with Déjà Vu and of how proud I am of him right now, even though our lives are worlds apart. I feel a tiny tug of regret, that old feeling of ‘what if’ again, but mostly I feel happy for him. This is what he wanted. This is what I wanted for him too and now he’s living it.