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‘Lia, you cannot spend your thirtieth birthday sitting at home eating parsnips with your parents,’ Rory points out. ‘That’s tragic – even for you.’

‘None taken,’ Mum replies with a frown. ‘But you should go out, darling, it will do you good.’

It’s funny. When I was a teen, I used to beg to be allowed out with my friends. Now she’s pushing me into it.

They all said it would do me good last time, and I ended up trapped in the toilets and waking up with the hangover from hell.

‘Anyway,’ Mel says, reaching into one of the gift bags. ‘First present.’

She hands me a small box wrapped in gold paper. Inside is a lipstick – it’s bright red.

‘It’s your colour, without a doubt,’ she says.

‘That’s lovely, thank you,’ I reply.

‘Open your card next – it will all make sense,’ she continues.

I do as I’m told, only to find a badge that says: Kiss me, it’s my birthday.

Oh boy. I think I’d sooner wear the tiara.

‘Well, that’s…’ Rory’s voice trails off. He’s clearly amused, but also speechless.

‘You have to wear it tonight,’ Mel says.

‘No, no, no,’ I insist.

‘It’s cute,’ she replies. ‘You can put on your new lipstick and see how many people you can get it on.’

I turn to my mum – the person I can always rely on to be the voice of respectability.

‘I say give it a go,’ Mum says, examining it. I shoot her a look. ‘What? It can only help, darling.’

‘Kissing people indiscriminately?’ I check.

‘It’s an icebreaker,’ she replies.

It’s ridiculous and embarrassing and overwhelming. Like everything else is at the moment.

Thirty wasn’t supposed to look like this – back home, no prospects of any description, begging for kisses. It was supposed to be cocktails in London, a nice dinner somewhere with tiny portions and huge prices, a present from the man I thought loved me.

Instead, I’m here. Back where I started.

‘Make a wish,’ Mum says softly when it’s finally time for me to blow out my candles.

I don’t even know what to wish for. A job? A man? A time machine? Or even just a chance to bump into my mystery man again? Perhaps that’s more realistic.

In the end, I just blow them out without really bothering with one formal wish. I’m sure the universe knows what I want.

After dessert, Mel corners me by the sink while Mum wraps slices of cake in napkins for people to take home.

‘So,’ she says. ‘Tonight.’

‘Are you really sure about this?’ I reply. ‘Because I’m happy keeping it low-key. To be honest with you, I’m a bit freaked out to be turning thirty.’

‘Lia,’ she says, suddenly a little softer. ‘You don’t have to want your birthday. You don’t even have to enjoy it. But you do have to let us drag you out for a drink, because sitting in your room thinking about how you don’t want to be thirty isn’t going to make you feel better about it. It won’t make you younger, it will age you if anything, so come out with us. Try to have a laugh. Forget about the number.’

That is annoyingly difficult to argue with.