I let out a small guffaw. ‘God, I wish,’ I asserted. ‘I’m about as close to the party line as a person can be. I’m going to beat myself up for the rest of the day that you treated me to a smoothie and I still gave you attitude.’

‘Really?’ he countered, seemingly genuinely surprised. ‘I’d get that seen to immediately – I’d hate for your Past Self to inadvertently get caught up in the plot of a time travel movie and come visit Present You on your way home, only to be disappointed that she follows the rules.’

I picked up my drink and took a huge slurp.

‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘And thank you again, for being so sympathetic to me the other day. Your kindness really meant something.’

‘I know heartache too,’ he replied. ‘So don’t go thinking you’re alone in feeling alone, whatever made that particular morning a bad one.’ I wanted to ask him more about what made him feel alone, but he carried on speaking. ‘Which is to say: you’re welcome.’

Patrick grabbed his drink and we wandered over to the same bench where I’d cried on him two days ago.

‘I was pretty spunky at drama camp, wasn’t I?’ I mused. ‘I forgot about that. Do you remember staging that big midnight feast in the dining hall when we all got busted by the counsellors?’

‘Hadn’t that whole thing been your idea?’

I considered it. ‘I wanted us all to get together and sign a petition to get ice cream served after lunch as well as dinner,’ I recollected.

‘See, that’s what I remember about Annie Wiig. She knew what she wanted and how to get it done.’

‘Yeah!’ I exclaimed. ‘Wow. I just … totally forgot. You’re right. And it worked, didn’t it?’

‘You were literally all anyone talked about that whole summer. Even after you stopped coming people told stories about you as this urban myth of a student. I’ll bet you’re still spoken about now.’

He was right – I had been pretty precocious growing up. I saw a lot of myself in Freddie and how she behaved. I suppose I was so protective over her because I didn’t want her to lose her edge, like I had done. Huh. That was a horrible thought to have. I’d lost my edge? When had that happened? I immediately changed the subject.

‘What about you?’ I said, tipping the straw of my cup in Patrick’s direction. ‘What kind of man did Patrick Hummingbird grow up to be?’

He considered it. He sat with his chunky, muscled legs sprawled apart and his elbows on his knees, easy in his own body and happy to take up space. ‘I grew up to be … a bit lost, I think.’

‘Lost?’