He shrugged. ‘Had that one since I was eighteen,’ he said, pointing at an abstract shape on his right arm, just above the elbow. ‘I got the rest over the following ten years, one a year. I stopped when I met Gill because I didn’t want to end up like one of those freaks who get every spare inch done, even eyelids. It’s very addictive. And Gill didn’t like them.’

‘They look sort of Maori,’ Suzanne said. ‘I’ve often wondered about them but you usually have long sleeves at work.’

‘They’re Maori-inspired, but not actually the traditional Maori kori, because those aren’t tattoos done with needles like these ones are. They’re actually carved out of the skin with little chisels. I just really liked the shapes. This one,’ he showed Suzanne a spiral on his left bicep, ‘is based on a koru, which is a fern shape.’

‘It’s lovely,’ Suzanne said. Was he imagining it, or did she have a slightly dreamy expression on her face? Patrick wondered if she’d have used those same words if she hadn’t been halfway down her second double gin – ‘impressive’ or ‘interesting’ were more the sort of words he would have expected her to use. ‘Thank you.’

‘Are they just on your arms?’ Her eyes flickered over his whole body, and he thought, fuck me, she is. She’s coming onto me!

‘Arms, over my shoulders, and one on my calf,’ he said, pulling up his jeans leg to show her. ‘Do you have any?’

She laughed. ‘Me, with tattoos? No. I’m far too much of a wimp. I’ll stick to admiring yours, thanks. Besides, like Gillian, Simon would hate it.’

Patrick couldn’t help it. He leaned forward slightly and put his elbows on the table. ‘Do you always do what Simon wants?’

She mirrored his movement. They were inches apart, and he could smell her perfume, something musky and subtle. He forgot about his headache.

Her phone rang. She pulled it out of her bag, examined the screen, made a face – but took the call anyway. ‘Hi darling . . . Yes, I’m fine, don’t worry . . . Did you? What channel? . . . Shit. Well, as you can imagine, there’s a lot of debriefing to do, so I’ll be late. Don’t wait up. Thanks honey. See you in the morning . . . You too.’

She put the phone away briskly. Patrick noticed the ‘you too’ cop-out. In his experience, ‘you too’ was what you said to someone who’d just told you they loved you when the feeling wasn’t reciprocal. But perhaps he was just extrapolating more than was strictly necessary, or even fair.