‘I’m Annie, yes,’ I continued, because I could still feel somebody stood near me, but I said it as less of a statement and more of a question, still muted by a mouthful of Lululemon. ‘If that helps.’ The warmth of human touch approached my stomach, and with a firm yank at my waist by wide, manly hands, suddenly my head popped out through the jumper neck and I could see again.

‘Sorry to manhandle you,’ the guy in front of me apologized. ‘I just didn’t want to start my day by watching you perish through jumper asphyxiation.’ He tilted his head to the side, like Carol does when I talk to her and she’s trying to understand. ‘Especially if I wasn’t sure if I knew you or not.’

My eyes adjusted, taking in the face of a stranger. How did he know my name? I had no idea who the crooked smile and Roman nose and twinkling eyes in front of me belonged to.

Oh, except: hold on. He was the man from earlier who’d been looking at me, the one I’d given daggers for daring to notice my presence. Had he been trying to get my attention because we knew each other? He was about my height – my generous tallness, despite everything else about me being overwhelmingly average, meant that our eyes were level – and he was smiling, wide and bright. He had shorts pulled over Lycra leggings and a grey marbled T-shirt that clung to his body to reveal not exactly a Brad Pitt physique, but definitely a healthy dad bod.

Alexander always made me feel a bit inferior because I didn’t have defined abs and a peachy bum. Although heck, it was nice to rub a hand over that stomach of his. When he walked around in his boxers sometimes I’d catch a glimpse of him and think, Holy hell, there’s my man. But then he’d eat a boiled egg for breakfast and I’d slurp at my cereal and I wondered if he ever looked at me and thought, Holy hell, there’s my woman. I mean, obviously he didn’t, otherwise he might have stayed.