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Trinity Road, South London

Tuesday, July 2, 1991; 23:00

Aidan cackled mercilessly at my noble attempts to protect Gabby from Dom Rogan. Coming from the most hapless of hopeless romantics, it confirmed that I’d irretrievably fucked up.

When the house phone rang, we both froze like spinsters. Tragically, this had never happened after eleven p.m. before. The look of mild terror on Aidan’s face as I picked up reinforced my conviction that we both needed to get a life.

‘Hello?’

‘Hi, Donal, it’s Gabby.’

By the time I recovered my composure, she must have assumed I’d hung up. Or lost consciousness.

‘Donal? Donal? HELLO?’

‘Hi, Gabby, hi. God, this is a surprise. A pleasant one I mean.’

Aidan’s eyes sprang out on stalks as I bumbled on.

‘Thanks so much for calling, I – I wasn’t expecting it but I’m really glad you did because I really, really wanted to explain everything.’