‘Sorry,’ the waiter said. Fred followed his gaze. The piano player looked up. The waiter averted his eyes. ‘So what can I get you?’ he said, as though Fred hadn’t already decided.

‘The well-done steak, garlic spuds and veg that I just ordered two seconds ago.’

‘Excellent choice. How well done would you like the steak?’

‘If in doubt, burn it.’

‘Right.’ He placed the menus under his arm and walked past the piano player with his nose in the air. The man’s eyes followed him to the kitchen.

Fred leaned in. ‘It looks like the queer fellas are having some sort of spat.’

Maisie laughed. ‘Dinner and drama.’

‘My gut says the piano fella was caught with his pants down by our lad.’

‘Oh, don’t! I don’t want to think about it!’

He grinned. ‘Yeah, it’s toe-curling enough. Still, live and let live.’

Initially their conversation was stilted. It was difficult to know what to say. Maisie kept thinking of topics, anything other than gay sex, and they’d exhausted Mork and Mindy after a minute or so when they both realized the only thing they really remembered about it was ‘Mork calling Orson, come in, Orson,’ and you can repeat that only so many times without coming across as slightly simple. Gardening? No, he doesn’t look like a gardener. Besides, I don’t know a flower from a weed. Music? I haven’t a clue. Books? Yeah, right, I’ve got time to read. Oh God, I have nothing to say. Why am I here? Don’t panic, Maisie. It’s just dinner. It’ll be over soon and then you can tell him … I just can’t do this.

Fred didn’t seem to notice the silence, or if he did, it didn’t bother him as it did Maisie. He was soon busy digging into his dinner. ‘He wasn’t wrong – the veg really does just melt in your mouth. Are ya sure that salad’s enough for you? That’s a very small bit of meat.’

‘It’s good.’ She wanted to expand, so she added, ‘The dressing is melt-in-your-mouth too.’

The second it was out of her mouth she regretted it. How could dressing melt in your mouth? God, I’m a thick. She had no appetite, and her mouth was so dry she couldn’t even taste the meat she was picking at, even though it looked delicious. I wonder if it would be rude to ask for a doggy bag. Throw some ketchup on it and Jeremy would hammer into it.

He watched her move her food around her plate. ‘Is that meat done OK for ya?’

‘It’s lovely.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘It’s great.’

‘Really?’

‘Seriously.’

‘It’s just that I’ve seen you eat more than that with your jaw wired shut.’