At the office, a bouquet of red roses arrives for one of the other PAs from her newish boyfriend. That’s what newish boyfriends do, I reassure myself as everyone gathers around and makes a big fuss of it. They make these grand gestures; it’s almost expected. And an image flashes into my mind of a Valentine’s Day many years ago, when I still worked in theatre. I’d just gone back after having Spencer and was working on a production that was proving incredibly tricky to pull together. In the middle of a rehearsal, an enormous, showy concoction of pink lilies and white baby’s breath arrived for me from Andy. The entire cast and crew gathered around and cheered, and my face blazed with delight.

To my gorgeous superwoman, the card said.

Another time, Andy had a request played for me on the radio, when people still did that. Further back, when we were still pretty new as a couple, having recently met at an otherwise terrible party, he’d make mix tapes for me and turn up at my door at 2 a.m., a bit drunk and proclaiming love, which I’d pretend to be mad about for about three seconds before pulling him in and hauling him off to my bed.

Back then, we didn’t need it to be Valentine’s Day to make thoughtful, affectionate gestures. Andy and I sent cards and letters to each other in the post all the time. If he’d stayed over at my flat, and left before I’d got up, I’d often find a sweet or funny note from him, sitting by the kettle. I’d draw silly cartoons to make him smile when he found them in his fridge. It occurs to me now that Valentine’s Day is more useful to long-term couples like us, acting as it does as a reminder to make an effort, to consider the other person and make them feel special. But too late for that now, at least for this year. As we are Not Honouring It, there’s no night out planned, no treaty dinner, just for the two of us.

Back home after work, I tell myself that this is a good thing as restaurants are always packed on February 14th, and they have those special Valentine’s menus, which are actually just their normal ones with ‘seduction cocktails’ and pink champagne jellies tacked on, as if that constitutes romance. I have almost convinced myself that going out with one’s beloved on Valentine’s Day is corny and faintly embarrassing (who wants to eat out just because the date on the calendar says we should? All that pressure, jeez!) when Andy announces he is going out – with other people!