We carry on eating in awkward silence. Derek starts fumbling over cutlery, and then he and I simultaneously notice Mum’s wine glass is empty and our hands clash as we reach for the bottle. He concedes, which would be fine, except Mum’s put her hand over the top to stop me filling her glass. ‘I’ll get tipsy,’ she says, her elbow dropping off the side of the table.

A gentle, oriental soundtrack is just audible over the sound of the other diners’ conversation. A table of businessmen are being obnoxious to our left, a young couple are eating chicken and chips to my right.

‘So, how’s the plumbing world?’ asks Derek eventually, assembling his third pancake. I try not to count how many are left, to make sure we all get our fair share. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter.

‘Yeah, good. Busy. Mostly.’

‘Sign of a good workman if you’re busy, well done,’ he says, and I see Mum glance at him with a look of appreciation.

‘I’ve always been very proud of what he achieved, haven’t I, Rhys?’

‘I think so, yeah.’ A bit of plum sauce dribbles down my chin and drops onto the pocket of my new white shirt. ‘Ah, fuck it,’ I say, then look up sharply at Derek, who is offering me a napkin.

‘Vinegar or lemon juice,’ he says.

‘Pardon?’

‘To get that out. Vinegar or lemon juice. Soon as you get home or you’ve no chance. It can stain like a right’un, that stuff, I’ve been there.’

‘Cheers,’ I say, not sure I have either vinegar or lemon juice at home but sort of impressed he has any clue how to approach such a thing.

‘Perks of living on yer own, see. You learn the hard way. My wife, she died about fifteen years ago. Cancer. She was brilliant at getting stains out. When she passed, it took me years to work out how she did it. In fact, it weren’t till I fathomed out the internet that I had any idea how to do owt around the house. I’m a right messy bugger. Made me realise how much she did. God rest her.’

‘Sorry about your wife,’ I say. ‘That must have been…’

‘Well,’ he interrupts. ‘Losing anyone is hard. You know that too.’

‘Yeah,’ I say.

I wonder for a second what David would think: of this situation, us out for dinner. Would he have liked Derek? Had he noticed a change in Mum? Is that how he found out? It’s hard to imagine. He didn’t generally notice subtleties. Michelle always said she loved what made him a square peg in a round hole, despite it being the same thing that made him blind to her new haircut, or an anniversary, or when she needed a cuddle, not her own space. ‘Hard is definitely one word for it,’ I say.

We fall back into silence, and no sooner have we finished the starter than our plates are whipped away from us with quiet efficiency. The restaurant’s matriarch oversees the process as our main course is delivered to our table, hot and sizzling on the marble lazy Susan.