‘That’s good.’ I nod as well. There’s too many ‘goods’ and too much nodding. But my mind is completely blank, totally void of all conversation topics. I need to say something. Anything. What do I know about him? Dogs, St Kilda football club, comedy, flute. Knowing he likes dogs doesn’t really help with conversation. What am I going to say, have you seen any great dogs lately? What’s your favourite breed? They are not starter questions. The football team would help if I knew anything about football, but I don’t. Comedy? Ask him to tell a joke? God no. The flute. That’s the best option.

‘So you play the flute?’ I say.

‘Yes I do,’ he says. More nodding.

‘For how long?’

‘About ten years,’ he says. He looks incredibly nervous, and I can see him subtly wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans, which softens my heart a little.

‘Amazing,’ I say. Is it amazing? Only by fairly low standards of what one might consider amazing, but I am reaching for any word that might help liven things up.

‘What are your hobbies?’ he asks me.

‘Um,’ I say. Hobbies, hobbies. Watching cleaning videos. Browsing fancy furniture websites for things I can never afford to fit out a house I will never own. Watching YouTube compilations of couples from TV shows I’ve never even seen, because I like to know the whole relationship story before starting the show. No, no, no. These are not hobbies you talk about.

‘I like reading,’ I say weakly.

‘Cool, cool,’ Henry says, nodding with great enthusiasm and clearly not listening but instead preparing the next question he’s going to ask. ‘And what are you studying? Oh wait, you already told me that when we were texting, I remember.’ He laughs, rubs his hands on his jeans again. He’s so nervous, it feels contagious.

The funny sparky person I was when we first texted is gone. Maybe she only existed in my mind. I shouldn’t ever read back over those texts, just in case.

Harper nudges me, and I look at her with relief. Save me. ‘There’s a guy that keeps looking over here,’ she says after a minute. ‘At you,’ she adds.

‘Who?’ I say. Probably someone looking on in sympathy as I struggle through my Henry flirting.

‘He’s turned his back on us now, but that guy in the corner.’

I look where Harper is pointing.

It can’t be. Surely not. I have enough to deal with tonight.

My stomach is already sinking and clenching when he halfturns and I confirm who it is.

Tristan.

Tristan is here, in my local pub, in my city, in my line of sight.

Fuck.

Fuck.

‘Fuck!’ I say.

‘What?’ Harper’s concerned.

‘That’s Tristan,’ Jesse says, in a voice that’s way too loud. ‘Brooke’s ex,’ he explains to Penny and Henry.