‘I can’t do this anymore. I don’t even want to date right now. At all. Nobody.’ I do look him in the eye then. ‘I can’t do this, I don’t want to!’

I’m fizzing with anger.

‘And you can’t talk about my dad like that.’ My voice is shaky.

I’m so angry. Angry at Dad for turning up late, angry at Dad for being such a two-timing cheat who couldn’t change his ways, angry he’s flirted his way all through his adult life and my parents’ time together, angry for all the times he promised her things would get better then went right out and repeated his performance (clearly as a musician he works to the mantra that practice makes perfect), angry that the only times he was home with us was when it suited him.

Angry that I’ve only just admitted all of this to myself.

Angry that I’m taking it out on Noah who hasn’t done anything wrong, apart from be himself. The totally unsuitable man I fell for.

‘This is about your dad, isn’t it?’

‘Of course, it is!’ I want to cry, but I must not. Mum isn’t howling in a corner. She’s putting a brave face on. A mask. I can do masks.

‘Your dad is nothing to do with me, with us.’

‘But he is!’ Despite everything I can’t separate the two. I can’t let myself believe, trust, that this could be worth the risk.

‘I am not your father, Rosie!’ His eyes are glinting. ‘I have never, ever given you reason to doubt me, not to trust me! That, that,’ he waves towards the bar where he’d been standing with Laurie, ‘was called being friendly. I have never, ever even looked at anybody else while I’ve been with you, have I?’

I can’t look him in the eye. Instead I bite my lip. ‘But we’re not an us, are we, Noah? You don’t believe in love. I don’t believe in taking chances. I think I’ve learned all I can from you. I think I’ve just learned my last lesson. Thank you.’ I end on a whisper. I’ve run out of steam.

‘You’re being serious? You’re really pushing me away; you’re sending me home like some naughty schoolboy who’s overstepped the mark?’

‘We both have.’ It comes out all croaky and small.

‘Fine.’ The word is forced, stiff. ‘But,’ his eyes are narrowed, hard, ‘don’t you dare pretend you didn’t want that kiss as much as I did.’

I stare at him blankly.

I can’t deny it. I don’t need to though. He’s taken a step back, he’s already on his way, marching out of my life as fast as he came into it.

Shit. Why did I do that?

Because of Dad. How could Dad turn up late, how could he have a go at me for just kissing a man, how could he impregnate a bloody cellist? I don’t have any answers to those questions. But I do know that I can’t kiss Noah again.