‘No thanks,’ said Shona. ‘I’d better be getting home, too. My husband will be wondering who’s going to burn his dinner tonight …’ Privately, she would have rather liked a drink, but didn’t like being the second choice. Dermot had clearly wanted a laddish drink with Jonty and was only asking her to be polite.

Shona was waiting at the damp bus stop, and opened her umbrella as she felt the first spots of rain. Bloody miserable December evenings, she thought to herself, as though it was all December’s fault that her evenings had become so miserable. A dark blue car pulled up next to the bus stop. Hope he gets a fine, parking in the bloody bus lane, she continued to gripe. She was surprised when Dermot wound down the window and said, ‘Do you want a lift home, Shona? It’s a grim evening. You’re just in.Tooting, aren’t you?’

‘Hi, Dermot. No thanks, really, I’m fine,’ Shona demurred, but looking down the icy road, she saw no cheerful red bus in sight. ‘Well, OK then, if it doesn’t take you too far out of your way. It’s just near Tooting Bee tube.’ She hopped in, and pulled the seat belt on. ‘So, I guess you didn’t get your drink?’ she said politely.

‘Well, I didn’t really want to sit in the pub by myself on a Friday night. I’d probably bump into half the students littering up the local, anyway.’

Shona laughed. ‘Did Pam ever tell you about the time we bumped into some of our girls in the Admiral’s Arms one afternoon? We both had a double free period as it was GCSE exam week, so we skived off to the pub, and saw a group of our girls from the lower sixth on the other side of the bar.’

‘What did you do? Report them?’ asked Dermot, amused.

‘Oh God, no. They shouldn’t have been there, and neither should we. So we all did the decent thing, we pretended we hadn’t seen each other, drank up quickly, left, and didn’t mention it once we got back to class.’

‘Outrageous!’ laughed Dermot. ‘Jane would not be pleased!’

‘You’re not to tell tales about Pam and me to the head,’ Shona said firmly. ‘We’ll flatly deny it,’ she added with a twinkle.

‘So, any plans for the evening?’ asked Dermot. ‘What are you going to burn for your poor husband tonight?’

‘Oh, the usual,’ Shona answered airily. ‘What about you?’

‘I’ve got a hot date with Tamarind, my local Indian. I can never bear to cook for one on a Friday. I always get a takeaway.’

‘Is that Tamarind Khan, in Balham?’ Shona asked with interest.

‘Might be. It’s up on Balham High Street, near the Boots.’