I take a sip of champagne and listen as Massive Attack’s ‘Unfinished Sympathy’ rings out into the crisp autumn air, remembering how Mum used to play it over and over in the car on the way to school. I pause the memory as the song fades and I take Connor’s hand. I want to be in the moment now; want to allow myself to be happy.

‘Oh, before we eat,’ says Connor, getting up from the cushions and heading inside, ‘I’ve got a little something for you.’

He disappears indoors. I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket. Taking it out, I see two texts from Lottie. The first, sent while I was on my way home, reads:

Nice to see you today. I’d forgotten what you looked like. Hope you have a good evening.

The second, which she has just sent, is more terse:

Sorry to be a pain but could you transfer your share of the gas bill ASAP. It needs paying this week.

She knows I always pay my share on time, making sure it goes into her account on the same day each month. But then I realize, this isn’t about the gas bill, it’s about Connor. She doesn’t like the fact that I’m spending so much time with someone other than her.

‘Everything okay?’

I look up and see Connor standing in the light of the kitchen doorway. He has his hands behind his back and his eyes are twinkling in the moonlight.

‘Yes,’ I say, sliding my phone into my pocket as he comes to join me. ‘Everything is fine.’

‘Right, I want you to close your eyes and hold out your hands,’ he says playfully.

I do as he asks and he places a small parcel into my palm.

‘Happy birthday, baby,’ he says.

I open my eyes and my stomach does a little lurch. It’s a box, beautifully wrapped in rose-gold paper; a ring-sized box.

‘Connor, I …’ I say, my hands trembling.

‘Open it,’ he says, sitting down next to me.

I carefully peel away the paper and take out a blue velvet box. Surely, it can’t be, I think to myself. It’s too soon. But as I lift the lid I see, not an engagement ring, but a pair of square sapphire earrings.

‘Your birthstone,’ says Connor, taking the box from my hands. ‘And art deco, according to the woman in the shop.’

He laughs in that nervous way people do when they’re unsure if they’ve got the gift right, then hands the earrings to me.

‘They’re just a little token to say how much I love you and how happy you’ve made me these last few months.’

‘They’re beautiful,’ I say, putting them on. ‘What do you think?’

I push my hair out of the way and turn my head this way and that.