‘Hawaii,’ I say. ‘John Harrison Burrows. I’ve read about him too.’ And I follow him on Twitter. And on Facebook. I saw you on there. (I’m never telling him this in a million years.)

‘That’s it. Knew it was somewhere beachy and American. Whereabouts in Chalk Farm do you live?’

‘Above the tube station.’

‘Hey, not The Palladian?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Wow, famous! I’ve read about that somewhere, too. I’d love to see inside sometime. Would you like another one? I’m going to the bar.’

‘Oh, OK.’ I look down at my cocktail and it is nearly gone. ‘Yes, please.’

As he leaves the table, my phone rings. Dad. I’d forgotten we had a prearranged call, in case Salvi turned out to be a serial killer.

‘Hi, Dad.’

‘Say “yes” for, it’s going OK; “no” for, I need to say I’m in hospital and you must come right away,’ he whispers, in the voice of an Italian spy.

‘Yes,’ I say, although I’m really not sure. ‘He’s gone to the bar. We can talk.’

‘Ah. That’s good,’ says Dad, in his normal voice. ‘So, how’s it going?’

‘Good, good,’ I say distractedly. ‘He’s a barrister, as well as a street performer. He’s interesting.’

‘Oh, right. How surprising. And that is interesting. Are you going to see him again?’

‘It’s way too early for that, Dad!’ I can see Salvi at the bar, chatting to a woman in a black dress, who is laughing. My gut feeling is ‘no’ …

‘OK, well, enjoy yourself. Stay out as late as you like. Have you got your key?’

‘Dad, I’m forty-eight, of course I’ve got my key.’

‘Good. OK, bye then, love. Mind how you go.’

‘Thanks. Bye, Dad.’

Salvi stops talking to the woman and returns to the table with two more drinks. Mine is ice cold and, again, delicious. I will sip this one more slowly.

‘Did you ever study for anything?’ He’s really staring at me again. Staring at me and smiling. More questions.

‘No, I left school at sixteen.’ I hope my make-up isn’t sliding off. I have powder, I have concealer and I have foundation in my bag. ‘I’ve had lots of different jobs.’ I think of the conference centre. Catering, Badging. The work trip to Tenerife, after which I switched departments for something more backroom. The bad night there. ‘I worked for about twenty years in a conference centre. I was made redundant.’

‘You could apply to another conference centre?’

‘I’m a carer to my father.’

‘Right.’