I nod again. It is not that words are not coming easily. I have plenty of words in my head, but if I open my mouth they will burst out – and they contain a load of abuse and loud screams.

‘I was looking for some other guy with a pram, I never thought you could mean him. Oh no, I don’t …’ He runs his fingers through his hair and stares after the guy. ‘Really? You’re kidding me.’

I shake my head. ‘No, I’m fucking not! And he didn’t even recognise me!’

‘He has only seen your pic on Tin—’ He stops abruptly when I give him my stare. ‘Shit.’ I don’t think this is because I’ve scared him.

‘What do you mean shit?’

‘What do I tell my sister? Gavin’s wife is her friend.’

‘I don’t give a f—’ I break off as what he’s said sinks in. ‘Haha, Gavin?’ I laugh. For some reason the fact that he’s a Gavin not a Gabe is funny. I laugh louder. It’s a hysterical cackle that makes people turn round and stare.

‘Are you all right, love?’ A woman touches my arm.

I nod, but I’m not. I’m so not all right.

‘Is he giving you grief?’ She inclines her head towards Noah.

‘Oh no, no, he’s fine, he’s nice. I kissed him!’ Oh God I kissed him! I lean forward, put my hands on my knees and take a deep breath so that 1. I don’t have to look at Noah, and 2. I can hide my inane grin from both of them. ‘It’s somebody else.’ I glance up at her.

‘You’re sure, duck?’ She gives Noah a hard look then sidles away, glancing back over her shoulder, not convinced.

‘He’s married!’ I look up at Noah, who nods. ‘He’s got, he’s got, a, a.’ I don’t think I can say the word baby.

Fuck, he’s got kids! The tears prickling my eyelids catch me unawares and for a moment I’m on the verge of blubbing, so I do a bit of swearing under my breath and get a grip.

‘Are you okay?’ Noah looks worried.

‘Don’t look at me like that!’ I croak. Sympathy is a killer. If he keeps on being nice then I’ll crumble. If I stick my nails into the palm of my hand and ground myself with pain, then I’ll be fine. Absolutely fine.

I straighten up. ‘How old is it?’

Noah pulls a funny twisted face. ‘Well …’

‘Go on!’

‘Not very.’

‘As in just popped out?’

He waggles a hand, palm down, the way you do to say ‘more or less’. In this case I’d guess we’re erring on the less rather than more side.

‘His wife was preggers and he was on Tinder!’

Noah nods, he’s gone pale.

‘And he’d have bloody recognised me if I was the only one! He’d have remembered, wouldn’t he? Wouldn’t he?’ I challenge Noah, who nods again. Then shakes his head.

Oh my God. If he’d turned up for our date, if he hadn’t ghosted me, I could have ended up dating a man just like my dad. Exactly the type of man I’d been trying to avoid. And, I gulp, I could have ended up being the other woman.