Eric opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He frowned, his head tilted slightly to one side. He was about to say, ‘I’m just fine, Cindy, how are you?’ as he always did, but the words had stuck in his throat.

‘Eric, are you all right, love? The cat got your tongue?’ Stepping forward, she placed her hand on Eric’s arm and gently caressed his shoulder. ‘Eric, love, what’s wrong?’

Eric looked into Cindy’s kind and welcoming eyes and his guard slipped somewhere deep down inside him. A tear silently trickled out and rolled down his cheek. Cindy took him by the elbow and, pushing one of the overhead dryers to the side, sat him down on the chair. She didn’t ask any further questions, she didn’t need to. Enough tears had been shed in Cindy’s salon for her to know what to do next.

‘Right, you sit there; I’ll go in the back and make us both a cuppa. I’ve got a nice bottle of the Irish for times like this and I’ll put us both a good splash in.’ She gently ran her hand up and down his forearm, gave it a gentle squeeze. ‘You just sit there and catch your breath,’ she said and left him for the few minutes she instinctively knew he needed alone.

Five minutes later, when she returned, there were no tears to be seen, just a thoughtful Eric, gazing out of the window, watching women bustling past, heads bent low against the Mersey breeze that whipped through the parade like a wind tunnel.

‘Isn’t the morning awful? It’s going to pour down soon,’ said Cindy, placing the cup and saucer in his hand. ‘Mind you, best we have it all now, out of the way before the carnival. And no point in anyone getting their hair done today, it’s wrecked by the time they’ve walked home.’ She sat down next to him, balancing her own cup and saucer on her knee and watched as he took the first sip of his tea. ‘Don’t be signing any important papers after drinking that,’ she said, ‘I’ve put a double in yours.’

Eric managed half a smile and allowed the burning liquid to run down his throat and settle into the pit of his stomach. The combination of tea, whiskey and sugar restored his equilibrium. Cindy didn’t ask him what was wrong: she knew, if he needed and wanted to tell her, he would do so, in his own time. They drank the tea together and, as he had run out of his five cigarettes, he accepted the offer of one of her Embassy filters. He settled back in the chair and looking at Cindy, raised a smile.

‘You feeling better now?’ she asked.