Then there’s my friend Kirsty who wants nothing more than to be someone’s wife with two-point-four children, and my sister Emily who travelled to Australia with me and met the love of her life on the way. Always content with the simple things in life, Emily has forever been my role model and the one I look up to with her carefree attitude and happy-go-lucky ways.

I don’t know how I became who I am now on the outside, but on the inside I’m bursting to be different, to take risks, to follow my heart and soul instead of my head. Inside, I’m longing to be the real me and so far in my life the only one to recognize that is this man in front of me. He sees in me something that I have only ever seen myself. He believes in me so much that it’s almost catching my breath.

‘Do you mind if I call my sister really quickly?’ I say to Tom, needing a moment from this realization and perhaps some familiarity before I really am tempted to run away with him and pack in all that I’ve worked for. ‘It’s not that we need to know each other’s every move, but I did abandon them all last night so it might be good to see how they got on.’

Tom gladly gives the go-ahead then goes to the bar to get some drinks in, giving me time to check in with Emily. She misses the call then rings me straight back and I’m excited to tell her all about my very quaint surroundings here in this brand-new place where life seems so free and easy.

‘Happy school holidays, Miss Taylor!’ she sings down the phone when I pick up. ‘Are you still with that absolute ride Farley? Our Matthew will murder you, you do realize that? I get a feeling he hates him and everyone else who was in that band.’

I can hear Kevin, my brother-in-law, mutter in the background something along the lines of Matthew being all right if nothing falls on him.

‘I’m with him, yes, in a little pub in Howth,’ I tell her. ‘I think I’ve fallen in love with Howth, not to mention the company. Oh Emily, he is just the best. I’m feckin’ mad about him.’

Not that I need to tell her that as she’s listened to me go on about all the ‘what if’ scenarios and fantasizing I’ve done about Tom Farley over the years.

‘I swear,’ she says to me. ‘I can’t believe this, Charlotte, he’s a dream! He’s your dream! Did you tell him about the songs you wrote about him? Oh my God, it’s like a movie! Did you tell him how mad in the head you’ve been about him for five years now?’