Maybe the fact he’s not talking to me is a good thing. If he was, I might make a complete jerk of myself.

My phone buzzes and I scurry back into my bedroom at an indecently fast pace. Just in case it’s him.

Bugger. I’ve stubbed my toe on the door jamb and it bloody hurts.

I take a deep breath and force myself to stop and rub it. Slow down. It doesn’t matter if it is him; it doesn’t matter if you miss the call. I’m turning into the desperate woman I swore I’d never be.

It’s not him.

The surge of disappointment is scary. And my head hurts. Even my eyeballs are smarting.

‘Hi, Mum!’

‘Hi, darling, it’s me!’

‘I know it is.’ I sit on the bed and force a cheery note into my voice.

‘Is everything okay?’

Ha! That didn’t work then. ‘Fine, just stubbed my bloody toe.’

‘Don’t swear dear, how many times have I told you to wear slippers?’

‘Plenty. Everything okay, Mum?’ I inspect my foot. It’s not bleeding, but it is throbbing. Like the rest of me, haha.

‘I can buy you some.’

‘What?’

‘Slippers, dear.’

‘I’ve got some.’ Five pairs in fact. Four unworn. One pair under the bed. Mainly Christmas and birthday presents from my parents. ‘I just didn’t put them on.’

‘We’re not having the party—’

‘Oh thank—’

‘—in the house this time.’ She carries on as though she hasn’t heard me. ‘We’re going to have a marquee. Sorry, darling, what did you say?’

‘I said oh goodness.’ Bugger, for a moment then I thought she’d come to her senses and abandoned the idea. ‘Does that mean there are lots of people invited?’

‘More than normal; some of your dad’s friends from the orchestra are coming. I thought it would be a nice surprise for him!’

Oh hell, this is getting worse. ‘Surprise?’ I say faintly. Does this mean he doesn’t know?

‘Surprise. So anyway, it doesn’t matter if you’re bringing a plus one, or not; you don’t have to tell me in advance as we’ll have lots of room.’

‘Great.’

‘But you will bring your young man, won’t you? You are still seeing him, aren’t you? The fling.’ She chuckles.

‘I am.’ Am I?

‘Well whatever you like to call him, we’d like to meet him.’

‘He might not want to come. He might be too busy.’ At the moment he’s too busy to even text me to confirm that he’s still alive. ‘But who knows I might have another guy by then, haha.’ Why on earth did I say that? We’ve not progressed beyond beginner’s level lessons, and it doesn’t look like I’ll ever get to the practical sessions.

The only man I have had an actual date with is Steve. And I can’t ask Steve, because there really is no future in that, and I don’t really want to ask Noah because things are tricky enough in my head as it is, without introducing a ‘meet my whacky parents’ scenario. Not that he’d reply anyway.