‘We’re not sharing a bed,’ I said. ‘That would be … no.’

I hadn’t actually thought about the sleeping arrangements. The only thing I’d thought about was having somebody else to watch my luggage at the airport when I needed the loo, and another person in the car speeding from beach to beach, radio playing, wind in my hair. Now I knew it was happening, the pull of vacation was overwhelming. I’d been going through the motions of my old life to try and get through a day but now, with all this to look forward to, I was reinvigorated. Like Adzo had said – New Annie was peeking out of the shadows of the old one. I didn’t have to go through the motions: I could craft my own story, and in that story I could be wearing a sunhat and a kaftan.

After a brunch of eggs royale with a side order of defending myself, I’d emailed him back:

Yeah, you’re right. I accept the get-out clause. Thank you.

He’d replied: But we can mini golf again, can’t we? I had fun!

I grinned whenever his name appeared on my screen. His words pumped me full of helium so I could float above the doubt I had about myself. We can, I’d sent back. Let’s put mini golf on the itinerary FOR AUSTRALIA, BABY! Of course I haven’t changed my mind!!!

Adzo thought the whole set-up was the best thing she’d ever heard, but then she often contradicted whatever the Core Four said – I think as my Work Best Friend she shouldered a responsibility to offset their more conservative predilections. Adzo definitely thought they were all a little bit square because they were all so traditional in their life paths of jobs and husbands and children, but then she hadn’t turned thirty yet. Something happens in your brain when you do, I swear. I don’t know if it’s society or culture or the biological clock or witchcraft or what. But it’s real. And I don’t think blokes have it.