‘Well, he can, but I just need to be there, you know?’ God, I’m boring, I think. And I can’t tell him the truth: that I gave up work because I wanted to run away from life; that I retreated from the world just like my father – but without his excuse – to sit on my backside and do nothing. I can see a great big cross hovering over Salvi’s checklist as it is. ‘How was your day?’ I ask. ‘Were you at Covent Garden again?’

‘No, I was at the Old Bailey.’

I’m surprised. ‘What, outside?’

‘No, inside.’

‘What, with the unicycle?’

He laughs again. His big green eyes dance and I feel warmth radiating off his skin. ‘No, with a bunch of files and a wig. I’m a barrister; the street performer stuff is just something I do on the side.’

‘Oh!’ My view of him instantly shifts and he acquires a new, glossy layer – the sheen of stiff card; corporate, expensive. ‘You’re a barrister,’ I repeat, like a total imbecile. ‘You’re a barrister as well as a street performer?’

‘Yep, criminal defence – the street theatre is a nice release for me. In between defending serial killers. Well, this week it’s a rapist. But I should get him off.’

‘Oh, right.’ I gulp a little, wishing I already had my drink. I fiddle with the food menu in front of me, picking at one corner. I’m trying to take this all in. He’s a barrister who defends serious criminals. He’s a street performer as a sideline. He’s currently defending a rapist. He doesn’t work at that Ultra Laser place as an entertainer. He didn’t meet Philippa Helens there. ‘Well, that’s … unusual,’ I say. What is he doing here with me?

‘I’m a natural born show-off.’ He shrugs. ‘I always have been. I show off in court and I show off in Covent Garden, when I get the chance.’ He sounds so delighted about it, all this showing off. So unapologetic. This man who rides a unicycle and juggles with fire.

‘Do they know?’

‘Who?’

‘Your law firm.’

‘Egon and Fuller? Oh yeah, they know how I get my kicks, but I’m the best barrister they’ve got, so they don’t mind. They think it’s a hoot, actually. As do I. All the fun of the fair,’ he laughs.

‘I don’t like fairs,’ I say. I wonder why on earth I’m telling him this. I also marvel at the utter banality and flatness of my conversation. He’s so confident, I think. I have no idea how people get that way.

‘Something bad happen to you at one?’ he asks, looking at me curiously.