In actual fact, it was the total opposite to what shall forever be known as the Dastardly Dan Debacle (courtesy of Norman, Leonard and a couple of Post-it notes), because Tony Simmons living in Swansea actually sounded quite pleased to hear from me. Which, to be honest, was slightly more disturbing than Dan McLachlan living in Barnstaple never wanting to hear from me again.

“Sadie...? Wow, Sadie Foreman. Wow! Well, of course I remember you—what are you on about? What a blast from the past! What are you...? How did you get my number? And how on earth are you?”

Now, never let it be said that I don’t know how to learn a lesson, and this time there was no way I was going to blurt out the real reason I was calling. After getting over the shock of Tony answering, I managed to stutter that I was well thank you very much and I was currently on a road trip up to Edinburgh with my son. I did head off on a bit of a bumbling tangent when I got to the part about it making me think about my university days, which in turn had reminded me of him, but I felt like I came in for the finish quite strongly.

“And then, well...you know how it is, I found you on, er... LinkedIn, and as it goes, Swansea was on our itinerary so...well, here we are!”

At least some of that was true anyway. According to Leonard, Tony had been far and away the easiest of all the fathers to find, having diligently recorded his squiggly career path all the way from Edinburgh English Literature student to Swansea social worker via a few years of part-time work at William Hill.

When Tony said that of course he’d love to catch up it reminded me that he’d been quite lovely, really, and we probably could have stayed on track for a pretty solid friendship if we hadn’t made the mistake of going back to his flat after that long, boozy afternoon in the university bar discussing the Brontë girls. Which then degenerated into a conversation about whether Liam Gallagher was goon or genius. Which then degenerated further into a story that probably doesn’t need retelling.

Hearing Tony’s voice also reminded me that it wasn’t from lack of trying on his part that we weren’t in fact friends. He’d tried to call me, quite a few times, after I snuck out through his laundry while he was asleep so I wouldn’t have to see his flatmates. Or him. But after ignoring about ten voice mails and not going back to our shared lecture for a couple of weeks, which turned into forever, it all went quiet and I totally forgot about him. And, I had presumed, vice versa. It took hearing him for the first time in thirteen years to make me realize that I’d actually treated Tony quite shabbily. It’s nice to be nice, Sadie, love.

It didn’t seem to worry him too much, though, because when I told him where we were staying he suggested we meet up in his favorite café on the seafront nearby. On the off chance that he’d left “part-time ax murderer” off his comprehensive LinkedIn profile, I mentioned that as well as myself and Norman I’d be bringing my friend Leonard with me.