Nick spun the sheet around on the table and sat back against the bench, a broad grin on his face as he watched for Dan’s reaction. It was a drawing of something that loosely resembled an oversized banana with what looked like a dead stick insect laid across its top edge. Dan looked up at Nick, cleared his throat, and continued to study the drawing. Maybe it was meant to be the crescent moon, complete with anorexic elf reclining.

Dan shook his head. “No, sorry. You’ve got me.”

Nick frowned. “What do you mean, I’ve got you?” He spun the drawing around to face him. “It’s obvious what it is.”

It suddenly dawned on Dan that what was important about the drawing was not so much the content as the artistic prowess. He took back the drawing and studied it with renewed understanding. “It’s very good. He’s got a very bright future.”

“Who has?”

“Tarquin.”

Nick snatched the drawing away from Dan. “Okay, that’s very funny. Listen, I might not be Van Gogh, but the idea behind it is a real winner.”

“Well then, you’d better explain what it is because I don’t think that it’s obvious at all.”

Nick laid the drawing once more in front of Dan and gave it a meaningful thump with his forefinger. “I have designed a child’s car seat.”

Dan looked back down at the banana and let out a silent sigh. Why the hell is it, he pondered to himself, that whenever men or women have their first offspring at a fairly advanced age, they either act as if theirs was the first household ever to be blessed with infant birth, or that all prior knowledge of rudimentary child care had been compiled by a moron?

“What’s wrong with the ones you can get in Mother-care or Halford’s?” Dan asked.

“Outdated. This is state-of-the-art technology.”

Dan chuckled. “Nick, you’re a banker. What the hell do you know about design and technology?”

Nick looked indignant. “I’ll have you know I was very good at making Airfix models at my prep school.”

Dan stifled a laugh. “Jeez, I don’t think those credentials will impress too many would-be users. I mean, you’re not planning to glue the baby into the seat, are you?”

Nick leaned forward on the table and fixed Dan with a beady eye. “Funny you should mention that.”

The smile slid from Dan’s face. He slowly shook his head. “Tell me you’re not—please.”

Nick grinned excitedly. “No. But it is revolutionary.”

“All right,” Dan said, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms. “Go on then. Hit me with it.”

“Okay! What I’ve come up with is the idea of a seat without any form of retaining straps.”

Dan looked a little nonplussed. “Oh?”