Sharif replied quickly, ‘No, really, it’s OK. I’ll wait. I can’t stand queue-jumpers.’ The last thing he wanted was to have her wander off while he got an unwanted cup of tea. ‘I guess you’re visiting, you don’t look sick,’ he hazarded, realizing too late how ungracious that sounded. It wasn’t like him to make daft comments when faced with a pretty girl. Normally he was the coolest customer around.

‘Thank you, I think,’ laughed the Amazing Girl. ‘Yes, we’re here for Daddy. He had a heart attack from nowhere, but he’s all right, thank God.’

‘My grandad has just had a heart attack. He’s stable, too. Mum literally just found out. We got here in a blind panic,’ Sharif answered. He realized how close he was leaning in towards the Girl, as though her sheer magnetism was drawing him closer; he had to force himself back.

‘Well, I’m giving up,’ she said, after yet another attempt at getting a black coffee. ‘I’ll see if Mummy wants to go to the cafeteria instead. We should be leaving Daddy to rest, anyway. Good luck with your grandad, and the tea,’ she said kindly.

‘Do you like music?’ Sharif asked, just as she was walking away.

The Girl turned back, looking adorably perplexed by the question. ‘Yes, I do. Well, it depends on the music, I guess. Why?’

‘It’s just that I’m giving a concert this week, not too far from here, in Clapham.’ He dug into his pocket and handed her a professional-looking flyer that had been knocked out on Micky’s home PC. ‘If you’re in the area, it would be great to see you there. You might like it.’

‘Oh, well, thanks,’ said the Girl, looking surprised, but not displeased.

‘If you tell me your name, I could put you and a guest on the list at the door, so you won’t have to pay,’ Sharif persisted, turning to press the button for tea in an attempt to appear rather more nonchalant than he sounded.

‘That’s very kind of you …’ She hesitated as she realized she didn’t know his name.

‘It’s Sharif, Sharif Khan. It’s sort of my band,’ Sharif said modestly, pointing to his name on the flyer.

’That’s very kind of you, Sharif,’ the Girl said. ‘I’m Candida, Candida Trueman-Karim.’ She turned to leave, but then turned back. ‘It was nice to have met you,’ she said politely, as though she had just remembered a childhood lesson in manners.

Sharif stood by the drinks machine, watching her move away in time to the music in his head. ‘Candida,’ breathed Sharif, ‘Can-dee-da’. He tried it out, and felt the melodic syllables dance across his palate, tongue and teeth. It was a name that was almost impossible to say without a smile; it was a name that left you open-mouthed with longing as you finished it. Can-dee-da.