‘No, not right now. I’m too busy with work.’

‘Don’t you get lonely?’

‘Are you asking me about sex?’

‘Whoa, whoa! I didn’t say anything about that.’

‘Oh don’t be such a prude, you started the conversation.’

‘Yeah, asking about a significant other,’ he puts emphasis on the description, ‘who you go antique shopping with. Who sits next to you when you watch one of those boring plays you’ve been going on about. I’m not asking about that other stuff. Jesus.’

‘You think you’re so liberal but you can’t handle the idea that someone over eighteen still has sex.’

‘Please stop.’ He puts his hands over his ears. ‘I’m not comfortable with the idea that anyone has sex.’ He leans on the bed and changes the playlist on the laptop.

Her head starts to feel heavy. ‘I can’t believe you’re acting so prim when you’ve already spent a night in a hotel with a girl. And to think my first impression when I saw you again was how camp you looked,’ she teases, because really it’s not what she thought at all when she first saw him.

He kisses his teeth, ‘That’s not very woke of you, Yvonne. You think all gay men wear pink tops and earrings?’

She laughs at him, then tops up his drink one more time. ‘Shame though, Emma would have loved to have a gay son.’

‘You’re weirdly not the first person to have said that to me,’ he yawns.

She wonders if his memories of Emma are mixed with those from other people. All the hundreds of stories that get pressed on him by those who think they’re doing him a favour, adding to his limited memories.

‘Oh gosh,’ Yvonne holds her head. ‘I haven’t eaten enough today to drink like this.’

‘When do you ever eat enough?’

She sits up to check how much they’ve had from the bottle, but her head spins and she sinks back down. ‘Whisky is not my friend. I don’t know why I always drink it.’

‘It messes me up too. You should see my dad on it. He can sink half a bottle and not even slur.’

‘Yeah, but he’s had years of practice,’ Yvonne laughs.

‘Mum used to like a drink too, didn’t she?’

‘Oh yeah. We were bad when we got together, we’d—’ she stops.

‘Don’t start self-censoring,’ he says with excitement, ‘I want to hear some good stories. I never get to hear anything scandalous about either of my parents.’

‘Really? Even your dad?’

‘Especially him. You know how low the bar is set for single dads? Most women think he’s God’s gift.’