Once Pearly arrived at Gumbo’s he could tell that his friend had made an effort. By the back door he had a card table up on the area that he’d paved with second-hand bricks. Gumbo was good at such tasks, and the small table and the two kitchen chairs were steady on the level surface. A tea towel printed with a view of London Bridge lay on the table anchored with bottles of Speight’s Old Dark, and there was a plate of buttered white bread. Gumbo wanted to pay for his share of the takeaways, but Pearly said it was his contribution. It was pleasant, relaxing with Gumbo before the final obligation of the day. As old friends they talked in a sort of shorthand of common memory and affiliation: sport, acquaintances of the past, local and transient preoccupations of the community, but there was no compulsion to use words just to fill a silence, and they were content at times to eat and drink, slouch in the kitchen chairs and feel the late afternoon breeze move around them. Pearly was lulled almost into forgetfulness but then realised the time. ‘I have to go,’ he said. He was surprised by his own level of regret. It was so easy to relax with Gumbo.

‘Go where? Jeez, you’ve just arrived. We’re just settling into it.’

‘It’s the opening of the costume room at the repertory. I’m cutting the ribbon, or whatever.’

‘Never been there,’ said Gumbo firmly, and he casually filled Pearly’s glass again as a ploy to delay him.

‘You should come then.’ Why shouldn’t he? It would be interesting to see what Gumbo thought of the place and the people, and what they thought of him. It would enlarge the experience of both. Beer, drunk in greater quantity and with greater speed than usual, had increased Pearly’s goodwill.

Gumbo was keen, and Pearly experienced a slight misgiving as he registered the unsuitability of his friend’s clothes for an evening occasion. Gumbo’s shirt collar was almost worn through at the fold. ‘Well, you’ll need to spruce up a bit,’ Pearly said. ‘Not that it’s especially formal, but you know, a decent shirt and jacket. And we’ll have to be off in just a minute or two.’

Gumbo took his beer and went into the house to change while Pearly carried things into the kitchen, folded the card table and leant it against the cupboards. ‘Hurry up, Gumbo,’ he called.

‘What’s that?’

‘I said get your skates on.’ Pearly disliked being late for anything. Lateness was a sign of a lack of personal organisation as well as a lack of respect. While he waited he checked the brief notes he’d made for the evening — the president’s name, titles of recent successful shows, instances of council support, a joke about a policewoman and a zebra.