‘Or what about a gin and tonic?’

‘Are you trying to get me drunk?’

He stops cajoling me and smiles sheepishly as the waiter disappears.

‘I just want you to have a nice time.’

‘I am having a nice time.’

He studies me, as if making sure I’m telling the truth, then leans back against his chair, satisfied.

‘You look nice.’

‘Thanks.’ I put my hand to my hair, trying to smooth it down. ‘I didn’t have time to blow-dry my hair properly.’

‘I like it like that. Your curls suit you.’

‘That’s lucky,’ I smile. ‘I was planning to straighten it, but something came up.’

‘Would that something have anything to do with the Porsche I saw parked outside your house?’

I let out a groan. ‘You saw David’s car.’

‘I arrived early to pick you up and couldn’t miss it. We don’t get too much call for sports cars around here; it’s mostly tractors and Land Rovers . . .’ His eyes dance mischievously. ‘Though I know of a white van that can do nought to sixty in about five minutes, if the wind’s in the right direction.’

He pulls a face and, despite myself, I start laughing. I wonder briefly what David would say about me going out for dinner in a white builder’s van, which amuses me even more.

‘So I take it that was the ex-husband?’ he asks and I nod. ‘Well, that makes sense.’

‘He just turned up. It was completely out of the blue.’

‘Break-ups hit men later.’

‘But he was the one who had the affair and broke up our marriage.’

‘And now you’re over it, and he’s suddenly realizing what he’s lost.’ Ben shrugs. ‘Trust me, men are idiots.’

‘You don’t seem like an idiot.’

‘I’m a reformed idiot. Don’t you remember me when I was a teenager?’ He grins and reaches for the bread basket.

‘Teenagers are allowed to be idiots – their frontal lobes haven’t developed yet.’

‘I don’t think mine fully developed until I had Stanley.’

I watch him buttering a piece of bread. ‘God, that looks delicious.’

‘It is.’ He takes a bite. ‘Here, have some.’ He holds out the basket, but sees me hesitate. ‘What is it with women and bread?’

‘Says a man who’s never had to try and fit into a pair of skinny jeans.’

‘Well, I’d look a bit silly,’ he says, and I laugh and take a piece. The bread really is as delicious as it looks, especially with a thick smearing of butter from the little silver round. Well, in for a penny, in for a pound.

‘So why did it take you so long? The frontal lobe, I mean?’ I ask through a mouthful.

‘I suppose part of me didn’t want to grow up, but when I became a dad, I had to. Simple as that.’ Ben looks at me, his face becoming serious. ‘I wanted Stanley to have the kind of dad I never had.’

There’s a pause. I think about sweeping it aside, like the crumbs on the table. Like I used to do in the past when the conversation was difficult. But I don’t want to do that with Ben – not even when the topics are painful.