‘That was out of this world! Just incredible!’ says Sophie as we make our way out of our row of seats and shuffle along in the crowd to exit the arena over an hour later. Below our tiered seating, a crew of techies come crawling out from every angle of the stage. Dressed in black T-shirts and combat shorts, they start dismantling the instruments, sound equipment and lighting that made up the Blind Generation show. And what a show it was.

Tom was on fire and never dipped in energy once as he sang hit after hit. He even threw in a cover version of The Pogues ‘Dirty Old Town’ which had everyone bouncing and singing along as a grand finale.

I did my best to show some enthusiasm, to pretend that I was as indifferent and as intrigued as everyone around me, but inside my stomach was sick. I couldn’t wait to get away from it all so I could just think and digest all I’d seen and heard.

Part of me still longs for him, or for the idea of him at least. I can’t deny it and I’m angry at myself for feeling that way when my own husband is by my side, so oblivious to the crazy map of my mind. I feel like I’m cheating on him with the goings-on in my head.

‘I think I’m in love with Tom Farley,’ I hear a voice behind me say as we take baby steps to get through the crowd. ‘I can’t believe he lived here in Dublin!’

‘Me neither,’ says another voice. ‘I wonder who the girl who broke his heart was. I bet she’s kicking herself now. I would be!’

They laugh and change the subject but I’m sure they aren’t the only ones thinking that way and wondering who the girl he left behind was.

‘Did you see his new girlfriend?’ I overhear another fan say. ‘I heard she was in the bar across the road earlier with some of his family. She’s the Swedish supermodel, Ana Andersson. Lucky girl!’

‘His fiancée, you mean,’ said her friend. ‘They’re getting married in December. I follow her on Instagram.’

Jack puts his arm around me protectively as we follow like a herd of sheep, out towards the door, past a huge merchandise stand where revellers are still queuing up to buy souvenirs of Blind Generation, until at last we step outside into the cool of the September night.