‘No, I’m not! Why the hell would I say that?’

‘Well some people might,’ I say huffily. ‘I’m probably not making the most of myself, because I like—’ I look down at my sensible flats, ‘being a bookworm.’ Dad might have had a point. Dress to impress has only been for special occasions for me. ‘And I am at work, in a bookshop.’

‘Which is perfect, it’s you! I’m not planning on changing you. If there is going to be any change at all, you’re going to do it.’ Noah is giving me a quizzical look, as though he’s not sure where I’m going with this. He’s not the only one.

‘But maybe it’s not me.’ I sigh. ‘Maybe I don’t feel one hundred per cent happy with myself.’ This is what time up a ladder with Tolkien does for you. ‘Maybe I don’t always like myself just as I am.’

‘Okay, so ignoring what anybody might say to you, if you could wear anything you want, do your hair how you want, whatever … what would you do?’

I stare at him. He looks straight back.

My mind is completely blank.

What would I do? I’ve spent most of my life trying to be what I think Dad wants me to be. I’ve never really stopped to wonder what I actually want myself.

But Noah is telling me that this isn’t about changing myself for Dad, or possible dates, this is about whether or not I’d actually quite like to change myself for me.

I look at Noah, who is waiting patiently. And being buffeted by customers pushing their way in and out of the shop.

In my teens I used to spend hours flicking through magazines, looking at the latest trends, the wild fashion shoots. Wondering what I’d look like with green hair and a black leather jacket. I did it in my early twenties as well. Not the green hair thing, but I still loved the magazines.

Then somehow it stopped. I flicked on past the handbags and shoes pages: I couldn’t afford it. I bought soft furnishings with Robbie instead. Invested in our future, ha!

‘The more outrageous the better!’

A little flicker of something strange tickles at my insides. It’s like the feeling I had as a kid, just before I was allowed to start opening my Christmas presents. Anticipation.

‘I’m not sure, I might need to window shop!’

‘Your wish is my command.’ He chuckles and bows.

‘I quite fancy a bit of remodelling; no structural work though!’

‘Fantastic!’ He rubs his hands together. ‘I can’t wait. Let’s find out who Rosie really is! I’ve got an hour, lead the way, let’s shop!’ Then he frowns at me. ‘We’ll examine the rest of your man-requirements another time,’ he says darkly, which sounds ominous.

‘What do you mean?’

‘All that boring shit about steady job, clean chin, flosses twice a day.’

‘I did not say that!’

‘Close enough! Oh Rosie, Rosie, Rosie, you want the right guy, not some make-believe …’ He stops himself short, probably because he has seen the look of disbelief on my face. ‘Okay, okay, that’s for another time. Lead me to the shops!’