I drank some more wine. Then I said, “I thought some of the others might be here. Like Lizard—”

“He’s gone Mexican,” said Sherry.

“Remember the shift leader? She’s with him in Mexico City,” said Earl.

“Otherwise they’d have come,” said Sherry.

“And Prawn?” I said. “Where’s he gone to?”

Sherry and Earl exchanged a look.

I said, “Mexico? Thailand? India?”

“The Scrubs,” said Earl. “Got three years for dealing.”

“Shit,” I said.

“It was fucking unlucky,” said Earl. “The pigs were chasing someone else. They broke into his flat by mistake. Then their dogs went mad—”

“It’s not all bad, though,” said Sherry. “He’s made some good friends.”

“Yeah, we’ll see,” said Earl. “Good friends can be a problem.”

“That’s true,” I said.

I wished I hadn’t said it. I gulped my wine.

Then Sherry said, “Anyway, he’ll be staying with us when he gets out.”

I said, “Us?”

Earl looked sheepish.

Sherry planted a purple rose of lipstick on Earl’s cheek.

“Guess who got lucky,” she said.

After Earl and Sherry had left, I sought out Xavier. He was by the window talking to an elderly man. I got myself another red wine and waited at the bar. There were plenty of people milling around but they seemed to belong to another group; most of those who’d been at Sabine’s service had gone.

Xavier wore leather brogue boots, charcoal jeans, and a sandy shirt under a brown plaid blazer. Stylish, as Sabine had been. I couldn’t hear what he and the elderly man were saying although it didn’t seem particularly intense; they looked like spectators commenting on a distant cricket match. Xavier fiddled from time to time with a leather thong around his wrist. Neither seemed in a hurry to end the conversation.

After I finished the wine, I went to the bathroom. I touched up my makeup, refreshed my perfume, and smoothed my hair.

When I came out, Xavier and the elderly man had gone. Looking up and down the road in front of the pub, I couldn’t see either of them. How could they have disappeared? Perhaps they’d visited the Gents while I was in the Ladies. Returning to the pub, I scanned it methodically. A back exit led out into the car park.

There were plenty of cars but no pedestrians.

“Shit,” I said loudly. “Shit, shit.”

“Need a lift?” said a man’s voice.

Xavier was in an old yellow convertible parked by the fence, smoking a cigarette.

“No,” I said. “Though I wouldn’t mind one of those.”

He waved an empty carton for me to see. “The pub has a vending machine.”

“OK, thanks.”

I turned, then turned back. “I liked what you played. The tune seemed familiar but I can’t place it.”