My speciality was literature, of course. But that still left music and sport. Luckily, when I mentioned it to Maya in our next lesson, she immediately volunteered to act as our expert in pop culture. ‘Absolutely! Count me in!’ Her exams are only a few weeks away and we’ve been making good progress. Despite her initial reluctance, she’s worked hard at her studies, though she’s still determined not to go to university. The quiz would be welcome relief from both her revision and her parents for a few hours. Having recently passed her driving test, she’d even asked if she could borrow her mum’s car.

With her mum being PC Neesha Sharma, this meant answering a few questions first – and confirming that no, I wasn’t being used as an alibi so Maya could attend an illegal drug rave; and yes, she really was going to be spending the evening drinking Diet Coke and answering quiz questions with a bunch of old people and a flatulent dog – before Neesha was satisfied and lent Maya the Mini.

Which only left sport.

‘I know it’s not a traditional second date,’ was how I phrased it to Ajay, when we were making arrangements to see each other again. Determined to let go of the past, I’d called him a few days after bumping into him in the bed shop. I was nervous of what his reaction might be, but I needn’t have worried.

‘Well, considering it was never a first date, I think we’re OK,’ he said, and I knew he was smiling on the other end of the phone. ‘But does this mean you only want to see me because you know I’m massively into sport and can tell you which football team has won the Champions League the most?’

‘That’s not the only reason.’ I smiled into my phone too. ‘But it helps.’

‘OK, great. I’ll see you on Sunday at seven. Oh and Liv.’

‘Yes?’

‘The answer’s Real Madrid, and they’ve won it thirteen times.’

So now here we all are, on Sunday at seven. Actually it’s nearly quarter past, as the last fifteen minutes have been spent trying to come up with a name for our team, and what started out as fun is now rapidly disintegrating into bruised egos and indecision. I hope this isn’t a sign of things to come.

‘We’re the village idiots.’ Valentine, who this whole time has been sitting in the corner sipping his pint and not saying anything, suddenly pipes up.

‘Hey, who are you calling an idiot?’ protests Ajay.

‘It’s the name of the team, you daft bugger. The Village Idiots.’

‘It’s tongue-in-cheek. Obviously.’ Maya rolls her eyes at Ajay.

Valentine catches her eye and winks. She flashes him a grin and offers him her crisps. I watch them across the table. Despite the age gap, they share the same deadpan humour.

‘OK, are we all agreed?’ I ask. There’s a nodding of heads. Picking up a pen, I write our team name across the sheet of paper. ‘“The Village Idiots” it is then.’