We end up deep in conversation about the British class system, which despite being a member of its upper echelons Carolina claims to despise.

“It’s all based on so much snobbery. You signed a non-disclosure form, right?” she asks me suddenly.

“Yes, I did. Simon did too.”

“Okay, well, here’s what I truly think about Lordships and the like. It’s out of date, sexist, and racist. Do you know, when Mummy married Daddy, some old uncle in the family said, out loud, Oh, thank God, she’s white, when Mummy walked into the first family gathering.”

“Fuck me, really?” Simon pipes up from the front.

“Yes. Really. She’s French Brazilian, but no one knew that until she was introduced by Daddy who had already married her before coming home. Apparently, the entire family were aghast at the idea of a Brazilian member. Once they found out she had light hair and blue eyes they were happy. They are so disgusting.”

“They’re still your family,” I say to her. “It must be difficult seeing them when they are so disrespectful.”

“I never see them. I love Mummy and Daddy, tolerate my brother, and adore my grammy on Mummy’s side. The rest of them are awful. Honestly, they really are. I can’t bear them. Christmas is the only time I see them. I have one uncle who every year, when the family photograph is taken, shuffles around until he’s directly behind me and then puts his hand firmly on my bottom.”

She shakes her head. “They’re relics, but they don’t know it yet.”

“We’re here,” Simon says just as I’m about to answer Carolina.

He peers out of the window to read the parking sign by the side of the road.

“Okay, I can park here because it is after eight. You guys go on in, and I’ll be waiting.”

He scoots down in his seat and turns the radio on.

I pat his shoulder in thanks and get out of the car, taking Brutus in one hand and cradling him in my arm. I offer the other hand to Carolina and help her out of the car.

We enter the pub, and the smell of ale and something else greets us. Is that smoke?

Carolina sniffs.

“Wow, this place is edgy. You can’t smoke legally inside pubs in England now.” She smiles at me.

I spy the guy with the cigarette. He’s standing by the back door and blowing the smoke out, but the breeze is blowing it right back in.

“Babe.” A woman to the right of us shouts and holds her arm up in a wave.

I glance at her and am immediately struck by how she is much more my usual type, and yet … nothing. She stands and runs up to us, hugging Carolina. Then she falters, takes me in, and stares before stepping back.