There was Vee, in a dark booth directly opposite me. And there, opposite Vee, was the helicopter pilot Pavel Lisowski. I texted her:

Still up?

She said something to Pavel, busied herself with her phone. My phone vibrated.

Julie’s mum says hi.

What was she doing?

Pavel looked disheveled and unwashed in his pressed black shirt. There was a fresh glass of beer in front of each of them, and beside each beer a shot glass. Pavel was leaning forward; he seemed to be spitting words at my daughter. Vee was looking evenly at this man, head close to his, perfectly unafraid. Even as the anger spiked in me I felt a strange stab of pride.

My little girl. Holding her own.

As I turned left along the second side of the bar a woman barged into me. Beer spilled down my shirt and onto my leg. The woman did not stop.

People milled in both directions. I turned to look at my daughter, and as I did, Vee picked up her shot glass, drank it down, watching Pavel all the while. I saw how she winced, though she hid it well. I looked about. No one but Pavel was paying Vee any mind. Except for me, of course, and she had not yet seen me.

Vee set the glass down on the table, said something to Pavel.

“Excuse me,” I said. A group of women smiled amiably at me, though they carried on blocking my way.

“I need to get past,” I said.

The women smiled. They stayed where they were.

I began moving women out of the way, guiding them by their shoulders, anxious not to be seen as rough or inappropriate, but still the women smiled. The last of the group, a dark-haired woman in a laced fitted top, stood in front of me, right arm on the pillar at the corner of the bar, made a play of refusing to let me pass.

“Please,” I said.

“So polite,” she said. “Would you like to drink beer with me, Mr. Englishman?”

I looked across at Pavel. He was speaking animatedly. He had not yet seen me.

“Scottish,” I said, “and in other circumstances this would be fun.”

“What is it about this that isn’t funny?” said the woman, a look of mock-disappointment on her face.

I pointed. “That’s my daughter. She’s fifteen. That man has bought her alcohol.”

“Oh.” The playfulness dissipated. She stepped out of the way, put a hand on my shoulder. “Do you want me to call the police?” she whispered as I passed.

“I’ve got this. But thanks.”

I rounded the bar, walked straight up to the booth, stood staring down at Vee. “Because they got it excluded,” she was saying, “or ruled inadmissible, or something. You know this.”

Pavel leaned closer in. Had they really not seen me?

“Find someone who DVRed it,” he was saying. “This is not my responsibility, Viktoria.”

“Pavel,” I said.