‘Make Poverty History? Oh of-fucking-course you did. That’s got your fingerprints all over, doesn’t it? All those self-obsessed whelps on the first and second rungs of the property ladder, making a difference to precisely no one by wearing a white rubber wristband and going “Wooo!” at some bloated corporate rock in a park. A vaguely feelgood message, no further thought or understanding required, and everyone toddles back to their cubicles and continues to prop up the same systems of structural inequality as were ever there, feeling like they Did Something. That wasn’t political. It was the opposite of political. It was a distraction. You basically all got together with Tony fucking Blair over a glass of bubbly at Number Ten and said, “Hey, all those people who marched against Iraq? Wouldn’t it be cool if we could get them to chill out a bit? And maybe access them as a market at the same time?” Did it make your poverty history, Danny? Nice little earner there for you, I would have thought.’

Hamza would tell her afterwards that that was the moment he realized he was in love. At the time, he had to smother a laugh as the Danny spork turned to him and requested the bill.

‘It always goes this way, doesn’t it, Clio? You can’t just be civil for half an hour over a shitty curry. I give you one little bit of feedback you don’t like and you get personal. Well, I’ve got to go. I’ll get this. You probably can’t afford it.’

Hamza walked him down to the till at the door and took his card without a word. He didn’t tip, or make eye contact, nodded at the floor and left.

She was slumped back in her chair, staring at nothing. He crouched down beside her.

‘Hey. You all right? Need a glass of wine? On the house.’

‘Yeah. Yeah, thanks. That would be nice.’

When he came back, she was rummaging in her bag for something. He set the glass down and tried to catch her attention.

‘Well. He was a bit of a dick, right?’

She burst out laughing.

‘So, like, a mate or something? Old boyfriend?’

‘That was my ex-husband, would you believe. Dunno if you could tell, but it wasn’t a – what’s the word – amicable divorce.’

‘Was you a child bride or something? He seems way too old for you.’

‘Ha ha ha! Keep it coming, pal. You’re the sweetest.’

She touched his arm and looked at him, and he thought, oh, hello.