The words landed between them, awkward and heavy. I can’t believe he said that. I don’t belong here. I want to go home. Maisie put down her knife and fork and pursed her lips.

Fred had paled. ‘I’m so sorry. That just slipped out. I don’t know what to be saying. I’m no good in these places. Fancy food and fruity waiters, piano playing and foreign menus – it puts me on edge, and when I’m on edge I say stupid things.’

He looked like he was about to cry. He held up his hand. ‘Hello, my name is Fred Brennan and I’m an eejit.’

The daft look on his face relaxed her and she exhaled. He’d just admitted everything she was feeling. ‘Me too.’

‘You’re far from an eejit.’

‘No, but I’m on edge too, and for the record, the salad dressing does not melt in my mouth.’

He laughed and then he reached for her, and the brush of his hand against hers woke Maisie up. She felt alert, bright, buzzing, twitchy in places she hadn’t felt twitchy in for years. Oh, Jesus, I’m not able for this … She escaped to the loo to calm herself.

When she returned Fred had ordered a second bottle of wine and poured her a glass. Her stomach was still dodgy from the previous night but she drank it as if it was medicine.

‘Tell me one thing about you that I don’t know,’ he said.

She thought for a second. She knew he wasn’t looking for something personal – he knew everything there was to know about her personally, every little dark secret. I don’t know. She wanted to run, but then he rested his hand on hers and looked into her eyes, and when he smiled at her the corners of his eyes crinkled. ‘Anything at all.’

Maisie exhaled. ‘I trained to be a hairdresser. I didn’t finish but I loved it.’

‘I knew that.’

‘Oh.’

‘You told me that while I was keeping you company one night.’

He didn’t elaborate. He didn’t need to. They both knew it was one of the many times they’d waited together for an ambulance, him stemming the flow of blood from her latest wound. She felt a little sick again.

‘Right,’ she said. This isn’t going to work.

‘You should go back and finish, if that’s what you want.’

She laughed. ‘Because I have that kind of time.’

‘Someday soon you will. You’re still a young woman.’

‘I don’t feel young.’

He gazed into her eyes. It wasn’t romantic – there was no chance of him leaning in for a kiss: he was just looking at her, or into her, she wasn’t sure which. It should have felt awkward but for the first time all evening she was calm. She held his gaze.