He chuckles, but a crackle of awareness arcs between us. When his laughter fades away, his eyes are dark, and we stare at each other for a far too long moment.

Then, as if by mutual accord, we step back from that particular abyss.

“What was the first single you bought?” I ask, settling into the sofa. It’s wonderfully comfortable. I take a sip of my drink, enjoying the burn in my throat and the warmth that spreads through my chest.

He considers. “‘Tom Hark’ by the Piranhas.”

“God, I remember that one. Luke had it. Mine was ‘Baggy Trousers’ by Madness.”

He takes another blini, loading it with caviar. “You have no idea how nice it is to discuss music with a man without having to explain everything.”

“Goodness, are your beribboned twinks not performing correctly?”

He rolls his eyes. “One of them thought the Human League was a commission to investigate space travel.”

I choke on my food and roar with laughter. “Oh my God, that’s brilliant.”

Kajagoogoo’s “Too Shy” comes on, and I smile at him as he refills my glass. I didn’t realise that I’d finished it. I throw the vodka back and gasp. “Bloody hell, that’s strong. I’ll suffer for this tomorrow.”

“It’s worth it.”

“Probably. I wish I’d relished the early years of my twenties when I had an extremely high alcohol tolerance level and the ability to drink until five in the morning and still function the next day. I thought those days would last forever.”

“I know.” He sighs. “I never got hangovers, and then once I was over forty-five—bam! I only have to sniff alcohol, and I get a headache.”

“You seem to be persevering,” I say, watching him throw his shot back.

“What can I say? I am courageous.”

“And modest.”

He smiles. “I’ve never been that.” He refills his glass and nods at me to drink mine. “I’m Danish. This is the only way to drink.”

The next song comes on—“Down Under” by Men at Work. “I’m pretty sure this was on a mixtape that my first boyfriend made for me,” I say idly.

“Good grief, I remember those.” He rolls his head on the back of the sofa to look at me. “Ridiculous things.”

“You didn’t make one, then?”

“Certainly not,” he says in a revolted voice. “Why on earth would I have done such a thing?”

“The song choices sent messages to your loved one.” I slide down farther into the sofa and listen to the song. “I’m not sure what message this one was meant to convey to me at the age of fifteen.” I think hard and shake my head as realisation dawns. “Bloody hell. I’m shocked now I think of the title. Darren was obviously a lot more risqué than I ever knew.”

“What did you think he was saying with a song called ‘Down Under’, then?”