He relays the number and I type it into my phone.

‘Thanks, Matt.’ I smile at him. ‘I guess I’ll speak to you soon then. Now off you go before I change my mind.’

‘Right you are.’ He gives me a final grin, this time more confident, and strides off along the platform.

As I watch him go, I wonder if maybe I was too quick to rule out a date. It doesn’t mean it has to go anywhere, and I do need to meet people to build my life here. I’ve just been handed my first Birmingham connection on a silver service plate. What’s wrong with enjoying the company of a gorgeous and genuinely nice guy? I definitely shouldn’t be ruling anything out at this stage in my new life.

As I make my way along the platform, I notice the escalators to the main station concourse are out of order. There’s a lift nearby, but a queue is forming outside it, mostly elderly people and travellers with big cases, so I head for the stairs.

I don’t think twice as I make my way up the first few steps, but by the time I reach the halfway point I’m out of breath, my muscles burning in protest. It’s a stark reminder that as much as I can feel quite normal when not doing anything too taxing, my body still isn’t coping well with more challenging physical activities – especially stairs.

I pause and stand to the side by the handrail, allowing the other passengers to pass me while I get my breath back. Then I start to climb the second half of the long steep flight. By the time I reach the top, I’m really wishing I’d waited and taken the lift. Panting heavily, my legs now weak and heavy as lead, I find a seat in one of the waiting areas and allow myself time to recover: something I’ve had to get used to. As I’m resting and indulging in a bit of people-watching, my mind starts to tick once again – and not in a helpful way.

It’s not such a good start, feeling like this, only minutes into arriving alone in the city that is to be my new home. I haven’t even made it out of the station yet. It’s so easy to forget that I’m ill when I’m just sitting having a laugh, like I was doing on the train. But here, now, too fatigued to make it to the shop across the walkway for a bottle of water, I’m almost starting to question my sanity. I’ve decided to move three hundred miles away from everyone who loves me, everyone who was willing to support me with my condition. I’ve snubbed the lot of them.

My only connection in this huge city is a man I’ve met twice on a train, who probably wouldn’t look twice at me if he knew the truth. Because really, as Dom so eloquently put it, who would willingly ‘sign up’ for that? Certainly not someone who scales mountains for fun. What was I even thinking, taking his number?