Suzy opens her massive wallet and pulls out a paint sample. She ting-ting-tings her glass with a nail. ‘Now, your attention please. I’m trying to decide between these shades. For an east-facing living room.’ She lays it on the picnic table in front of me.

I haul myself up to a sitting position, legs still stretched along the bench, and drag the Foster’s ashtray over to me. I pick up the card and focus on the small coloured oblongs.

‘And then one of these’ – another paint sample – ‘for the woodwork. Late Victorian.’

Dave says, ‘Lara should come to dinner.’

‘Oh yes – we need a guest to motivate us.’

‘And we’d love to have you. How about next Saturday. Are you free?’

‘Unusually and unexpectedly, I am.’ I say this through a smile. Suzy winks at me and reaches over to help herself to one of my cigarettes, scrunching up her own packet.

‘Eight o’clock, then,’ says Dave, finishing his pint. Ours are still full.

‘I look forward to it.’

‘Dave will cook. I can’t.’ She pats his chest. She digs out another sample card. ‘Or we could go rogue with the woodwork and choose one of these.’

She eyes me expectantly.

I dutifully study the shortlisted candidates ringed in biro.

‘Well, anyway, you’ll see it. Although it looks different in the evening. But it has to work in various lights, of course.’

She takes the samples back, files them away behind the banknotes. ‘Oh, and I like this’ – an inch of cloth stapled to a card – ‘for the curtains. It has to be curtains because of the style of the property.’

Through the open doorway Dave signals to the barman and raises his empty glass. A new one is brought and he pays and drinks it in three long draughts.

I play with a beer mat. Then I notice it’s been chewed, so I leave it.

Dave slaps his hands on the table. ‘I’m going to Tesco. Anything else we need?’

‘I sent you the list this morning.’

‘I know you did, that’s why I’m asking: anything else since then? Do we need eggs?’

Suzy smiles and shakes her head. ‘See you at home, darling.’ She raises her face for his kiss.

‘Right. Well.’ He nods. He looks at me and there’s something at the back of his eyes. (What is it – shame? Guilt?)

I tip my glass at him and say, in dismissal, ‘Enjoy Tesco.’

He looks back at me. (Jealousy, even?) There’s a pause, and then he goes, freeing us up to talk about his sperm – motility of, as affected by diet and underwear. I throw my legs back onto the bench and wedge my bag under my feet for extra elevation, but Suzy’s oblivious. She’s four years older than I am, so I can see what’s ahead. She has a band of fine lines across her nose and cheekbones.