‘Looks like it. Do you want me to call her over?’

‘Yeah, go on, see if she’s got that blonde mate with her.’

Tom gave a wolf whistle. The woman glanced round smiling. She put her hand on her hip and held a pose in her leatherette minidress and knee-high patent boots.

‘Looking good, girl,’ Bob said, slapping his knee that was jogging up and down like a piston. She slid herself onto his leg, but it didn’t stop moving. Bob’s face flushed under his dark skin.

‘Where’s your mate today, Kath?’ he asked.

‘And I thought you wanted to see me,’ she said, standing up.

‘Don’t go.’ Bob pulled her back.

‘Here she is,’ she said and released herself from his grip.

Max watched a blonde saunter towards them. She seemed familiar but he couldn’t place her.

‘Hiya guys,’ she said in an imitation Texan drawl.

‘I should be getting off.’ Max stood up.

‘Going so soon?’ said the blonde, easing herself into his chair. She crossed her tanned legs.

‘You’re no fun, mate,’ Tom said. ‘I reckon he’s going home to his pipe and slippers.’ They all laughed.

He imagined Maddy in the garden with the girls helping her water the flowers. She wouldn’t mind if he had another drink. She’d tell him he deserved it for working so hard.

He drained his glass and worked his way over to the bar, squeezing past a group of bikers. A short, squat man with a ring through his nose shoved into Max, winding him.

‘Better watch yourself, mate,’ the man said. Max was about to reply, but the man had gone.

He cradled his stomach and held out a ten pound note to attract the barman. His sleeve inched back showing the small tattoo on the inside of his wrist. It had been months since he’d thought about Ali. He tried to picture what she would look like now. If she was married too. It was natural to be curious, wasn’t it? Especially considering their relationship ended so abruptly. Why couldn’t she be in here tonight?

‘Don’t let them get to you,’ said a voice at his side. The blonde leaned on the bar next to him. ‘I’m Jaz, Jasmine.’

‘Adam. What can I get you?’ He pointed in the direction of the colourful line of bottles.

‘It’s okay, I can get my own. I don’t do rounds.’

‘This isn’t a round. I don’t expect one back.’

‘What do you expect then?’ She smiled pouting. Out of her lacy fingerless gloves sprouted slender hands and long black-red nails.

‘I expect you to drink it and be grateful,’ he said with a smile.

She laughed. ‘I don’t accept charity, but I’ll make an exception. Whiskey. Neat.’

‘I’ve not seen you down here before.’

‘You’ve not had your eyes open then.’