‘She says it’s OK as long as she doesn’t have to fiddle around with pulses and I cook for myself.’

‘Fair enough. What’s it going to be today? A nice bit of T-bone?’

Again, that look. You think you’re above temptation now, do you? He was steaming drunk – you could tell just by looking at him: his eyes were too bright, his face was too red, and his hands had stopped shaking. But also, he was at the manageable stage, where he was still perfectly capable of holding a conversation. The conversation might get a bit more obsessive or repetitive as the evening wore on, but we were a long way away from the ranty/obsessive stage, which didn’t usually set in till two or three in the morning. Now Dad didn’t live with us I never really saw that side of him any more, and Ellie had pretty much never seen it, which made it nice and easy for her to pretend it didn’t exist.

‘I’ll have the rump steak and chips,’ I conceded, and Dad grinned at me.

‘That’s my girl,’ he said.

‘I’m going to have the same,’ Ellie said.

‘Good for you,’ Dad said, not really paying her that much attention.

The waiter arrived with the wine – Dad had ordered a bottle of red as soon as we’d sat down. Dad tasted it – he loved that little ritual, though I’d never seen him send wine back. Then he poured a bit into my glass. He always preferred to drink in company. I’d learned quickly to watch it with him; his hand would slip a bit, the wine would splash in and the look of temptation would come out. Before I knew it I’d be feeling all the emotions I never usually let myself feel and talking about all the things I never usually let myself talk about, and Dad would be looking at me in delight.

Well, it wasn’t going to happen this time. Mum trusted me to keep an eye on Ellie and come home sober, and that was what I was going to do.

I sipped my water. Suddenly I felt really nervous, which was stupid because nothing bad was going to happen to us here, in public, and Dad wasn’t that drunk, anyway.

Dad raised his glass and proposed a toast. ‘To being together,’ he said, and we all chinked glasses.

Then he swigged some wine and gave me that wicked look, the look that meant he was about to attempt to induce me to do something I maybe shouldn’t do, or might be reluctant to go along with.

‘What’s all this I hear about your mum having a new boyfriend?’

Totally predictable: he wanted me to dish the dirt on Mark. Mum had warned me he’d do this, and I’d promised her I’d steer as far clear of the subject as possible.

‘She mentioned she’d told you about him,’ I said, playing for time.

‘What I wondered was, what do you think of him?’