When Will reminisces, as he so often does, about when his parents were together, the mum and dad in his memories are almost unrecognizable compared with the people he now knows. Where, for example, did this generosity come from? As a married man, his dad was never one for overblown gifts, yet these days they can’t make it through a round of drinks without an offer of financial assistance or three, even if Will’s mum is forever saying how he contributes nothing towards the household.

Not that this is the only change in Will’s dad since leaving the family home – far from it. The way he dressed changed almost immediately. The unbranded shirts and well-burnished wax jacket were gone in a flash, and it’s safe to assume the tattered moccasin slippers for which he was legendary went straight in the bin. Barely a week after moving out, he was in his new uniform of skintight jeans and tweed waistcoat, a beard establishing itself. This sudden change left Will with an unshakeable feeling of hollowness, which he eventually realized to be a sort of grief, even though the person he was mourning was alive and well.

The fortnightly Dad Nights began soon after that. ‘There’s no one else,’ he’d said again and again during the break-up, but on that first pub outing Will had been shocked to see an opened twelve-pack of Durex Fetherlite wedged very visibly in the door pocket of the car. How on earth did his dad not think to hide those, Will wondered for some time afterwards. It took weeks of dwelling on the question before he began to suspect that his dad hadn’t left them on show accidentally at all.

‘You two are very quiet tonight,’ their dad says. ‘Don’t tell me you’re still not talking to each other? Hoped you might’ve put that to bed by now.’

‘It’s nothing,’ Danny says vacantly, his attention focused on the woman serving at the bar. ‘Will being gay, as usual.’

Their dad shifts uncomfortably. ‘That’s enough of that.’ He turns to Will. ‘Care to tell your old dad what this atmosphere is all about?’

‘Nothing to tell,’ he snaps.

Since that night at the bowling alley a fortnight ago, the two of them have barely spoken. In passing, Danny occasionally calls Will a ‘pussy’ or ‘an embarrassment’, but that’s the limit of their interaction. So intense is Danny’s venom that Will has to regularly remind himself that he saved this guy’s skin, possibly his life, and that it’s that which his brother is so aggrieved about.

Will opens a pack of nuts and picks at them, despite his lack of appetite. His pint remains nearly full.

‘Reckon she wants to know?’ their dad says, turning round and looking towards the bar, where Danny’s eyes have been fixed for several minutes now.

‘She’s being all coy,’ Danny replies. ‘Little tease.’