"No, thank the Lord. I mean, not that I don't love children. But it does rather complicate matters."

Peter had intercepted my glance and was coming across.

"Hello, darling. I see Tom's here?"

"Yeah, and Adam," he nodded at a tall, dark-haired boy, "who I was telling you about."

"Well, this is Ted Fleming. He's a marine biologist."

“More of an environmental scientist, actually, but I'll take that. Hi." They shook hands.

"Oh, right, that's what my friend Sam wants to do, when he goes to university," Peter told Ted.

"Oh, OK. Where's he applied, d’you know?"

And off they went; waffling on about courses and different degrees and what have you, and I noticed how well Ted clearly got on with young people. Well, he worked with them, for goodness sake. It would be like me not getting on with a paintbrush. But also how, a few minutes later, when they'd finished their academic man-chat, and Ted had offered to have a word with Sam, and Peter had thanked him effusively and then gone back to join his mates, having shaken Ted's mighty paw heartily, Peter had given me an admiring look. A look that clearly said, Much better, Mum. Go for it.

I hoped to heaven that Ted hadn't seen it, but there's precious little subtlety about a seventeen-year-old. I became absorbed with my drink, pretending it was absolutely crucial to extract my lemon and give it a little suck, something I can't imagine was that attractive to witness.

“So are you Lobster Potting with the Bellingdon crew?" he asked, when I finally dared to drop my lemon and meet his eye, which, annoyingly, was amused.

"No, I don't think so. It's horribly expensive." It was, but Peter would no doubt be paid for by his father if he turned up, and Janey, who'd invited him, if he didn't. "Anyway," I lied, wishing I hadn't mentioned money, "I see enough of them during working hours, as you can imagine."

"Fisherman's Retreat?"

"Oh – you mean . . . ?"

"Why not?"

"Quite the discerning local. How d'you know about that?" The Retreat was a closely guarded secret. Tucked away down a side street, it was in a deceptively grotty part of town.

“Babs took me.”

"Ah, yes. She would." I hesitated, glancing about. "It's just . . . I'm a bit worried about Celia. She said she might come down later, but—"

“She's over there."

He pointed through the crowd towards the pub. Celia was indeed standing talking to Babs and Janey, smiling and laughing. She saw me, waved and grinned. Phew. I was relieved.

"OK," I agreed. I put my glass down on the wall. "Lead on, Macduff."

He scratched his head and looked perplexed. "Ah well. There you have me, I'm afraid. I talk a big locals’ game, but I'm not entirely . . . up the high street, peel off left somewhere and head back along the cliff?"