‘Okay then, yeah, sure, let’s go on my honeymoon together.’ Sarcasm dripped from my every word. ‘You can carry the suitcases and I’ll get drunk on the plane and leave you to explore on your own.’

My turn. I got it in one. By the next hole, the tone of our conversation had shifted from a joke to a legitimate pros and cons list. Patrick was waiting for me to say something else, so I told him: ‘You just focus on shooting your shot, please. Look, we’re holding the people behind us up.’

He swaggered over the golf ball and made a show of adjusting his jeans to allow for maximum movement, wiggling his bum at me.

‘Just play!’ I squawked.

He hit the ball and it went straight into the hole. ‘He shoots, he scores, he flies to Australia!’ he cried, waving his hands in the air.

‘It’s a terrible idea,’ I said. ‘Stop teasing me with it.’

‘Au contraire,’ he countered, as I putted my ball. ‘It’s a brilliant idea. You said yourself you’re desperate to say sod it to the rules. What could make the point better than running off into the sunset with your old pal Pongy Paddy?’ The use of his old nickname made me suck in my cheeks to stop myself grinning.

We headed over to the last hole of the course. We were neck and neck on the scorecard, and suddenly I wanted to win more than anything.

‘Ladies first,’ he said. ‘If you score, it can be your brief moment of winning before I come right up behind you. So to speak.’

I put the ball on the ground and did my own peacocking. It made him laugh. I liked the sound of it – carefree and genuine. He made me feel funny, instead of performing a role for him. I didn’t have to act like a girlfriend or fiancée or wife or good girl. I was just being me.

‘How did you get to be this way?’ I asked. ‘This YOLO spirit?’

I hit the ball gently and we both watched as it glided over the fake grass into the next hole.

‘Nice work,’ he said, and I acted like it was no big deal. It all came down to the next shot: if he missed this one, I won. If he got it, we’d have to go to a tie.

‘Okay, here’s the deal. If this goes in,’ he suggested, ‘I get to decide if I’m coming with you.’ I raised my eyebrows as if to say, is that so? ‘And if it doesn’t, you get to decide if I’m coming with you. But either way, you’re going.’ He used his club to point at me. ‘Almost three weeks in Australia? Who’d turn that down?’

I didn’t say anything.