He watched the girl for a second or two as she took an order at another table. She was nice, though. A student, perhaps? She had a mature kind of confidence, a politeness, secure in the knowledge that she wouldn’t be working in a place like this forever. The kind of girl he hoped Sam would be getting to know.

He pulled out his phone. Sam had replied to his text.

Hi Dad. Cool here. Busy. Goin prague nxt week. See you xmas!

Then there was a second text from him.

Use WhatsApp, loser?!

I do use it, he thought as he grudgingly added Sam’s name to his WhatsApp contact list. Old-fashioned texting felt more personal, like a private line of communication between the two of them, something that almost no one else did anymore. Now even that was deemed unacceptable.

Prague? Christmas? He counted the weeks as he checked his WhatsApp for new messages. There was one from Chris Saunders, and another from Bridgette in Forensics. Duty-bound, he chose the latter.

Joe. You might want to drop by when you’ve got a sec. A little present for you from the Shaw vehicle.

He thought about giving her a call. Nah. He’d be there in forty minutes. It could wait. Meanwhile, there was the message from Chris.

Hi, Joe. It’s Chris Saunders again.

He liked the way that she also announced herself unnecessarily.

Something’s cropped up. But I’m still free later this evening, if that’s any use.

He replied straight away.

That sounds good. I’ll send a message when I know how things are going here. See you in Tong!

The batter around the fish was now sodden with vinegar, perfect for the adhesion of salt, which he sprinkled on liberally. It wasn’t going to do his heart any good, but one of the enduring pleasures of adulthood was that there was nobody to tell you not to do it. He’d realized this when he sat down for his first meal as a student in Nottingham, a quarter of a century ago. A plate of instant noodles, and no one there to tell him off for going mad with the ketchup. He’d never lost the daft, adolescent pleasure of smothering his food in ketchup, just because he could.

But now, with Sam up in Edinburgh, he worried himself sick about what the new freedoms of his son’s new life might lead to. It was ridiculous, he knew. But he’d heard all about medical students. In fact, he’d arrested a couple of them. He’d also picked one up off the pavement in Leeds, a shit-faced kid, first year away from home, so drunk that eventually some kind soul had used him as a punchbag, kicked him to the ground and taken his wallet.