I tilt my head back towards the sky, feeling the breeze on my face, and a blanket of contentment wraps around me. I don’t feel guilty any more. I know that Matthew is happy and that he’ll be OK. I don’t feel like I’m on the wrong path any more. I know exactly what I want in life and how I’m going to get it. I’ve spent long enough beating myself up in case I’d taken a wrong turn in life, but those days are now in the past. I want to concentrate on my future now, but most importantly my present. Yes, my present is what matters most and, with that in mind, I reach into my handbag to get my phone so I can respond to my husband.

I take the phone out and with it comes the piece of paper Tom handed me just moments earlier in the bar when we met outside the bathroom. I’d forgotten all about it. That in itself is a revelation when I think of how I’d longed for any sort of message from him for so long, always wondering what if, where he was and if I should have been with him.

I unfold the paper, noticing it’s not a receipt as I’d thought but a small yellow flyer with the name and address of someone called Dianna Thompson at a record company on one side, but with Tom’s message to me on the back.

Tomorrow, I read. 12.15 flight to London (chartered). Just me and you, Charlie. It’s always been you. Meet me there if you want to try again, Tom xx

I blink back shock as I reread his words. He is asking me to try again? He’s asking me to go to London with him tomorrow?

No, Tom! No, no no! My head begins to spin and I scrunch up the paper into a tight ball. I’m just about to throw it, hoping the wind will catch it and take it away, but a dog barking at my ankles makes me freeze with my arm in the air.

‘Get down, Bouncer! Down! I’m so sorry, love. He won’t touch you!’ says the owner over the dog’s rough and aggressive snarls.

I always think it crazy when a dog owner says that as their pet sniffs and barks at someone. How does she know for sure he won’t touch me? I lift my feet off the ground and curl into a ball. I stay that way. I can’t move with fear.

And Bouncer? I could think of another name for him! He’s a large, black, sheepdog type and if he wasn’t barking at me like I’d just stolen his bone, I might find him a lot more endearing.