‘Is he OK?’

‘I don’t know.’

Trying not to panic, I stare hard at my phone, willing Harry to come into view. My mind is flicking through a Rolodex of worst-case scenarios, imagining Harry in all of them.

‘I’m sure he’s fine.’

‘Yes, I know. I just wish I could see him, so I know—’ I break off as Harry suddenly appears on-camera. ‘Oh, phew!’ I joyfully thrust my phone at Ajay to show him.

He frowns. ‘What’s he got in his mouth?’

‘Huh?’ I turn the screen to see Harry has an object between his teeth and is shaking it violently, like he’s trying to kill it.

‘Oh no, he’s got my handbag.’

‘You know there’s something I’ve always wondered,’ ponders Ajay. ‘Why is it women have so many handbags?’

But now is not the time to start discussing a woman’s complicated relationship with her handbag. I get a sudden close-up as Harry swings mine in front of the camera in his jaws and my chest constricts. It’s my Gucci handbag.

‘Harry, no, put it down – that’s a good boy.’

Pressing the voice-activation button, I try to remain calm and speak to him through the phone, and in what I hope is a soothing, reassuring voice. Of all my handbags, he had to choose my only designer one. It was a fortieth birthday present from The Ex. I’ll say one thing: Harry has great taste.

‘Harry. No!’ I say sternly. ‘Drop it.’

He ignores me and starts flinging it around the room with his teeth, the contents flying everywhere as he shakes his head violently.

‘Drop it! Harry! DROP IT!’

He drops it. I feel a burst of relief. Before, flopping to the floor, he starts to chew it.

‘No! Stop it! NO!’

‘Is everything all right over here?’ demands a gruff voice.

I snap back to realize that the pub has fallen silent and everyone is staring at me, pints in their hands, mouths agape.

‘Um, it’s Harry . . .’ I mumble, feeling slightly mortified and turning to the figure standing behind us. ‘Oh, hi.’

It’s Ben Armstrong, still dressed in his builder’s overalls and holding a pint.

‘So, Harry, what seems to be the problem?’ He steps towards Ajay accusingly.

‘Do you mind?’ Ajay jumps up, biceps curled.

‘Yeah, I do mind all that shouting and bawling, actually.’

‘No . . . wait . . . What are you both doing?’ I try quickly to explain.

Ignoring me, they square up to each other.

‘Look, this is all a misunderstanding.’ Visions of Ben as a teenager getting into fist-fights come flying back to me and, seeing the scene unfolding, I try again. ‘Please, I can explain.’

But Ben isn’t listening. ‘It’s OK, Livvie. I’ll handle this.’

Ajay looks back and forth between us. ‘Hang on a minute. Do you two know each other?’

‘Ajay, this is Ben – Ben, this is Ajay.’ I make a desperate and rather tardy attempt at an introduction.

Ben frowns. ‘Who’s Harry then?’