The Jolly Roger was a quaint seafood restaurant on a platform built out over the river. We chose a table by the window which offered views of neat rows of slickly painted boats. There was a distinct salty sea smell wafting through the windows.

‘I didn’t think you’d phone,’ you said as you held your glass up to mine. The white wine coated our climactic date with a fine gloss of perfection. ‘I’ve missed you so much.’

A slight pause, a heartbeat passed, before I answered. ‘I’ve missed you too.’

‘Can we go back? Start again?’

I watched the pleading in your eyes.

Below where we were sitting, a pantomime sailor, clad in a fancy dress striped nautical costume, was trying to untie his boat.

‘He can’t undo his knot.’ We laughed. A faint relief loosened the tension.

‘One step at a time. Let’s enjoy this weekend and see where it takes us.’

‘Oliver has tried to call me.’ You tensed as you spoke. ‘He’s left messages wondering why I won’t call him back. He doesn’t know we’ve met.’

I felt your pain and wondered if perhaps we could unite against the hurt. I was naïve. The sailor finally undid the knot and prepared to set sail. A young teenager, sporting a bright yellow life jacket, hopped on board clasping several beer cans.

‘I could kill him. Oliver,’ you continued. I had suffered in silence, in the dark, behind closed doors but this wouldn’t be your way. I guessed you’d been harbouring wild vitriolic notions of revenge. But now, all I wanted was to forget the past, bury it along with the fear and misery and move on, together.

‘Leave it, Mitch,’ I said. ‘It’s over. I’ve moved on and you need to too. That was then and this is now.’ I lifted your fingers tenderly to my face. Soft white clouds floated across the azure sky, momentarily masking the sunlight.

‘I’ll try.’ Oliver would be his battle. Mine was to forget. I finished off my glass and topped us both up. We smiled as you inverted the bottle into the ice bucket, an invitation for the waiter to offer us another.

‘Amber,’ I said. One word was enough.

‘I’ve finished with her. I saw her earlier this week and told her. What about you and Arthur?’ You toyed with some bread, dipping it absently in the oil. The nonchalant activity was meant to conceal your thoughts.

‘We never really got started.’ I smiled into your eyes, confidently asserting that Arthur was no threat and never had been. ‘He was my stopgap. My mother loved him but he’s so clingy and weird.’ I surprised myself at the terminology. Yes, he was weird but I’d only recently realised this. ‘What about your mum?’

I smiled at the hovering waiter, nodding assent to another bottle. We were celebrating. It was a special anniversary.