‘You are?’ He seems surprised and – if my instincts aren’t totally off – pleased to hear this. ‘What’s the new job?’

I purse my lips thoughtfully as I consider this question. ‘I want to say big important television producer for the BBC…’

‘But…?’

‘I’m a project manager.’

‘I see your problem. They are worlds apart.’

‘It gets worse. I’m an IT project manager.’

He puts on a repulsed face. ‘I’m with you. Can’t get much worse than that.’

‘What about the fact that I love it?’ I cringe.

‘OK, that does it. Excuse me, could I move seats, please?’ he jokes to a passing member of the train crew, who seems unsure whether to stop or keep walking.

I laugh and shake my head, giving the poor staff member a signal that it’s fine to walk on.

‘And your wholly superior job is…?’ I prompt him.

‘Superhero?’

‘Come on. I shared my shame. It’s your turn.’

‘I’m a manufacturing engineer.’

‘Ha, that sounds even worse,’ I hoot triumphantly.

‘I’d say that’s debatable. Shall we ask your friend with the drinks cart to take the deciding vote?’

‘Not sure she’d be with either of us. So, what does a manufacturing engineer actually do?’

Rather than waiting for an answer, I pick up my phone and look up the term.

‘Still got the same bad habit of validating everything through Google then.’

I look up from my phone and laugh. ‘You got me. Very guilty of that, as well as being a notorious “smombie”. Trying to get on top of these things.’

Matt looks amused. ‘I’d say by my observations so far you’re not doing so well at either. It took you long enough to notice me.’

‘Yeah, well, who made you chief phone-use observer?’

As we continue our flirty banter, I realise that for the first time in months, I actually feel like my old self. Like a woman. A strong, desirable woman who can flirt and be flirted with. Not someone’s patient. Not someone who needs care or looking after. It reminds me of the way Dom and I used to bounce off each other, the chemistry between us still electric, despite being several years into our relationship. Where did it go? I didn’t even notice it disappearing until it was gone. All because of the cruelty of nature and the inability of the people in my life to continue to see me as the person I was – as the person I still am.

Would this guy behave the same way towards me if he knew I had MS? Or if I were sat here in a wheelchair? It’s sad, but based on my experience so far, I do doubt it. I feel an unexpected smarting inside me: frustration at the injustice of it all.

‘You OK?’ Matt breaks through my thoughts. ‘Think I lost you there.’

‘Sorry, yeah. Totally zoned out.’ I pick up my drink and knock the last of it back.

‘Hope it was over something good.’