Oh no, no, no. I am so not going down this road for a second.

‘You mean you hoped I would,’ I interrupt him, unable to disguise the jag in my voice. ‘Oh Matthew, I’ve no interest in Mr Sensible with corduroy whatever, you must know that? I could never go there, in fact I’d run in the opposite direction from anyone remotely beige. Please cut me some slack for goodness’ sake.’

He looks offended now but I’m not sorry. I didn’t question or judge his type of woman when he just told me he’d found a kindred spirit so why should I let him do the same to me?

‘What I mean is, I hope you’ve met someone who matches your intelligence,’ he quickly covers up. ‘Someone good enough for you, who will be good to you, someone who isn’t like—’

‘Someone who isn’t like Tom Farley, you mean?’ I interrupt him and he actually jumps.

‘What?’

‘Is that what you’re getting at?’ I ask him, still nipped by the very idea of me falling for Mr Sensible. ‘You’d love me to be with anyone on this earth as long as it isn’t a womanizing rock wannabe like Tom Farley who maybe is my type after all?!’

‘Where is this coming from?’ he asks me, as if someone has just punched him in the stomach. ‘Why are you talking about him?’

This is not going as I’d rehearsed it at all, but I can’t hold back. I’m losing it. I’ve lost my way, and everything goes into some strange sort of slow motion as the name Tom Farley seems to catch the back of my brother’s throat.

His mouth twists a little and he grabs his beer and takes a long, thirst-filled drink then slams it down just a bit too hard for my liking. Here we go …

‘What on earth do you have against him?’ I ask him, wanting to know once and for all the truth behind the stupid row that changed their whole future. That changed my future perhaps, too.

‘Why the hell are you bringing him up all of a sudden?’ Matthew asks me. He looks ashen now as opposed to the bright happy chappy I just witnessed. ‘We weren’t even talking about Tom Farley! You know I’ve a history with him that I can’t discuss. My doctor told me never to indulge in conversation with him or about him. Do you know why?’

‘No?’ I say, afraid now of what is to come.

‘You really have no idea?’ he says to me, looking at me now as if I’m telling lies. I shake my head.

‘I don’t, Matthew,’ I tell him. ‘I mean, I know that he asked for my number and you turned on him and—’