Bruce paused to count on his fingers. ‘Thirteen years, pal.’

‘And in my head, when I’m working on campus and one of the kids is up to something I feel like I’m one of them. But then I have to do a double-take, and be Mr Mission Controller and get them to listen and behave.’

‘Can I taste?’ Kerry asked, not waiting for an answer before stabbing half a risotto ball with her fork.

‘You always do that,’ James moaned.

‘What?’ Kerry growled.

‘You say you don’t want a starter and then you eat half of mine.’

Kerry turned sideways, gave James a quick kiss before poking his slightly bulging stomach. ‘You don’t need the calories, fat boy.’ Then she pointed across the table. ‘Look at Bruce, all tanned and muscly from Thailand.’

‘I can’t help it,’ James said. ‘I’m stuck behind a desk most of the day.’

‘He failed his staff fitness assessment on campus,’ Kerry said. ‘And frankly, I’m fed up looking at his paunch.’

‘It’s just my build,’ James protested. ‘Body fascist.’

‘So anyway,’ Bruce said, pausing as a waitress swept by close enough to overhear, then speaking to Kerry. ‘What are you doing now? Are you on campus?’

Kerry shook her head. ‘I visit weekends. If James is around and I’m not working.’

‘She sold her soul to the devil,’ James added.

Bruce looked confused, before Kerry explained. ‘Unlike certain boyfriends of mine, who inherited hundreds of thousands of pounds from their mother and ride around on fancy motorbikes, I have to earn my keep.’

‘Hear hear,’ Bruce said, scowling at James because there had been nothing to inherit from his parents either.

‘Kerry works in the City of London,’ James explained. ‘Evil French bank, securitised leasing.’

‘They’re not evil,’ Kerry protested.

‘What’s securitised leasing?’ Bruce asked.

Kerry shrugged. ‘You don’t wanna know.’

‘So is it fun?’ Bruce asked.

Kerry snorted. ‘Nope.’ Then looked disappointed. ‘Salary’s great, but you work stupidly long hours, preparing trading reports and … I don’t even want to talk about it.’

‘So quit,’ Bruce said. ‘Dump the flabby boyfriend and come live with me, teaching martial arts in the sunshine.’

James gave Bruce the finger across the table, before dipping a piece of bread in olive oil.

‘A few years,’ Kerry said. ‘A couple of good bonuses and I can afford to quit and do something more satisfying.’

‘Banker bonuses,’ Bruce laughed.

‘I told you she sold her soul,’ James added.

Kerry folded her arms, but was only pretending to be upset. ‘I miss being a cherub. And when I’m at work, listening to all these Oxbridge-educated toffs going on about their gap year antics, I want to knee them in the gonads and tell them that I helped bring down a major drugs ring when I was twelve years old.’

‘So who else is coming to the party tomorrow?’ Bruce asked.